


Mistakes Were Made: The Book of Crowley

by eag



Series: Mistakes Were Made [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), A very big fish, Abusive Relationships, Achaemenid Empire, Achaemenid Persia, Ancient History, Ancient Persia - Freeform, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Asmodeus is scary, Aziraphale's solitary adventures, Control, Crowley's stuck at Asmodeus' house, Death, Depression, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Food, Friendship, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Good Omens and The Book of Tobit, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Isolation, Jewish Character, Jews of Ancient Persia, Loneliness, Love, M/M, Murder, Music, Mythology - Freeform, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Road Trips, Sexual Abuse, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, The Book of Tobit, The slowest burn in history, Tobias and Sarah, Unrequited Love, Wine, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), graphic heterodoxy and heresy, overcoming the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-01-25 16:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 49,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21358936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag
Summary: Based on the biblicalBook of Tobitfrom theApocrypha.Ephesus, 400 B.C.  Commanded away from Aziraphale's side by an infernal master, Crowley is forced to use his time-stopping powers for Asmodeus' dirty work while Aziraphale is left wondering why Crowley has disappeared.  As Crowley sinks ever deeper into despair, Aziraphale is sent on a journey accompanying a human from Nineveh to Ecbatana.Of course, mistakes were made...
Relationships: Asmodeus/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Mistakes Were Made [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1432507
Comments: 442
Kudos: 122





	1. The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags for warnings.

**Ephesus, 400 B.C. **

As the shadow of her long black chiton-draped figure moved over them, the plants trembled, knowing full well who was the master of this garden. Crowley walked along the stone-paved path, and the plants that she passed grew ever harder for her, leaves unfurling, flowers blooming all the brighter. They knew full well the penalty of failure, and so they straightened up, their leaves outstretched in verdant glory toward the sun, tensed and straining toward beauty and perfection, all to please her will.

Crowley set down the pitcher of mixed wine and as she did so she nudged a chair into place beneath the golden dappled shade of a sycamore tree, eyeing the table laden with food that she had set out. On a large plate painted in red-figure surrounded by ducks and waterfowl, cheeses both soft and hard were surrounded by brined olives both green and black. A little mountain of dried apricots, cherries, and figs were piled up on one side, the other heaped with shelled walnuts and pistachios. Crisp cucumbers still damp from rinsing were in a bowl and nearby was a jar of honey, the edge of a golden honeycomb peering out from the lip. 

“Oh, the bread.” She reached out to touch the cloth-wrapped bread, checking the temperature, and at her touch the bread grew warm again, as if fresh and hot out of the oven.

“And stay that way,” she hissed, and the bread did not dare to disobey.

She moved around to the other side of the table and straightened the other chair, so that the two chairs faced each other. But then she frowned to herself.

“Too much. Far too intense. He’ll think...” And here, she could not finish her thought, not even to herself.

So she moved the chair again, making sure that both chairs faced each other at a gentle angle, so that whoever sat could easily look at their companion, and at the same time look out over the garden wall below and see the gleaming wine-dark band of the Aegean along the horizon, islands rising from the sea like distant mountains.

“Better.”

Just then she heard Aziraphale’s familiar step along her path, the soft scuff of his sandals upon the stone. She had left the gate unlocked for him and he had let himself in as was his custom. And when Aziraphale came into view, climbing up the hill, Crowley looked up with a smile. 

“Angel,” Crowley said in greeting, straightening his black chiton about his shoulders and hips. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale smiled brightly, and greeted him with a kiss as though they had not just seen each other the day before.

“Just in time,” Crowley pulled away, drawing the edge of his himation closer over his head, his hand pressed to his cheek as if he could still feel the lingering touch of Aziraphale’s lips. “Bread’s still hot, let’s eat.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Aziraphale said, setting down a plain ceramic pot on an empty spot on the table, rattling the lid. “I brought you some soup to go with our meal.”

“Of course not,” Crowley smiled, though he clearly remembered telling the angel yesterday that he would take care of all the details of the food today.

“Here, have a seat, I know where your bowls are and will get some for the soup.”

“No, it’s all right, I can-”

But the angel was already heading up to the house, and Crowley sighed, slumping back in the chair. Alone, Crowley looked out over the terraced garden down toward the sea. There were dark clouds gathering over the islands; perhaps it would rain soon. And so Crowley sniffed the air, first tasting it with the nose and then the tongue and there it was, the faintest scent of rain and ozone lingering in the air. 

And yet, the sky above was clear. 

Crowley stood and walked up to the house, meeting Aziraphale in the entry.

“It seems like things changed.” And just as those words were spoken, Aziraphale set down the bowls and took his hands.

“What was it that you said, my dear?”

Aziraphale’s lips pressed gently to his fingers, and Crowley found himself drawing back, even as he longed to take Aziraphale’s hand. Torn, he stepped away, out past the colonnade, feeling the cool breeze and tasting the briney scent of sea air on his tongue, the wind swirling the folds of his long black chiton about his sandaled feet.

The green garden within the high stone walls that normally felt like a refuge seemed to block him in, and he wandered higher up on the hillside terraces past the house, looking down at the flat mirror of the sea.

Aziraphale followed him.

“I said, it seems like things changed. Ever since Athens,” Crowley said, rubbing his fingertips. “Did things change? It feels like things changed.”

“My dear boy, I don’t think anything has changed, has it?” But there was an odd note in Aziraphale’s voice, a tone that was different, that was unusual, and Crowley frowned, hearing the strangeness coupled with the hesitation in the angel’s voice.

He turned to look at Aziraphale who quickly looked away, hands folded behind him, fingers tangled together in a tense knot that did not escape Crowley’s attention.

“You’ve been much. Much more...” And the words caught in his throat; they were too hard to say. How to explain that everything was different after that night at the symposium when he had rescued the angel from Asmodeus. It seemed that since then Aziraphale pressed his affections at any opportunity, reaching out to touch Crowley, to kiss his fingers or cheeks, or to hold his hands. And it wasn’t that Crowley didn’t like it – it always sent a pleasant shiver of sensation through him to touch the angel – but things were different now. It didn’t seem like the easy natural affection that had existed before, but something else, something that seemed almost forced.

Something with hidden intention, perhaps. But this was Aziraphale and it was impossible that the angel could have an agenda that he didn’t know about; Aziraphale wore his feelings openly. Or so Crowley thought. And that was a troubling notion too, that there were hidden depths to the angel that he had not fathomed.

“Hmm? Much more what?” Aziraphale had a mild, careful expression on his face.

The false note of feigned innocence in Aziraphale’s voice made him pause. Crowley frowned, not sure of what to say or how to say it. “We’ve become closer, haven’t we? Since Athens.”

“Well, why not? After all, we are refugees from the war between Athens and Sparta, and living as such here in Ionia. It would only be natural that we see each other more often now.” Aziraphale came closer, the back of his hand brushing against Crowley’s hand, and it sent a shiver that slithered over all of his skin. Yet Aziraphale continued speaking as if he noticed nothing, glancing up at Crowley to meet his eyes. “Isn’t it reasonable for friends to lean upon each other in times of hardship?”

Crowley rubbed the back of his hand. It seemed as if any time he brought this up, the question was skirted.

“I miss my little house in Athens. It’s been years, but I miss it,” Crowley said, changing the subject so as not to have to deal with it. It was easier to pretend that nothing was wrong, that nothing was different, even as he eyed the angel cautiously as he retreated, pulling the himation closer over his hair, sinking into the obscuring shadows that the cloth provided.

“Ionia is always nice,” Aziraphale said as he began to stroll deliberately away from Crowley, glancing back at him at intervals as if to gauge his expression. “I’ve always liked it better than Attica. I thought you did too. It’s closer to Egypt, for one. And your place in Ephesus has a better view, and is closer to the sea.”

“And is colder in the winter,” Crowley said, drawing his crimson-edged black himation tighter over his shoulders. 

“Maybe so, but…here you don’t have to be a hetaira,” Aziraphale ventured. “You needn’t warm anyone’s bed anymore. Not at Hell’s command.”

Crowley said nothing for a long moment as he wandered through the garden, the air redolent with the scent of laurel, rosemary, mint, and lavender, while Aziraphale followed at a polite distance, tailing him through the trailing path of stones that wandered lazily through the shrubby plants.

“I know what I did. And you’re not wrong. I had orders,” Crowley said finally, not looking at Aziraphale. “But if you think I have anything to be ashamed of, you don’t know who or what I am.”


	2. The Scent of Juniper

Nightfall, and the sea air seeped in cold. Sprawled out alone on his bed, Crowley watched the flickering shadows cast by the lamplight on the plain whitewashed walls that were bare of any decoration, and wondered at his own words. After that, there was no more to be said. They ate their midday meal with perhaps a few too many cups of wine in a silence punctuated only by the lightest of conversational topics, nothing more than remarks upon the weather and such safe small talk as to be abysmally dull. Afterwards there was a last cup of wine and a cool parting, which left him troubled. They could see each other tomorrow, in a few days, or next week, or perhaps not at all for a decade or more. It could be a year. It could be a hundred years.

With a groan, Crowley flopped over and closed his eyes, pressing his hands over his face, trying to untense enough to rest, to sleep. To while away the hours in pleasant unconsciousness as the humans did; it was a better thing to do than to spend all the long hours of his time awake and thinking, which he would otherwise do.

Too often he found his thoughts wandering to Aziraphale, and it seemed that if he thought about Aziraphale any longer, he might remember the touch of the angel’s lips on his fingertips, against his cheek, against the back of his hand, and perhaps even that one time, against the sensitive skin of the palm of his hand... 

Crowley found his fingers straying to touch his own lips.

But then, suddenly he sat up, as the air itself in his room seemed to change, the quality of the world around him seemed to darken, the shadows growing deeper, taking on a hint of an infernal tinge like the crimson stain of the falling sunset light upon the distant horizon.

“Darling.” 

Crowley twisted around, just in time to see Asmodeus rising from the ground, dusting himself off before sitting down on the edge of the bed, black wings blocking out the fluttering lamplight.

“My lord,” Crowley shivered, and drew the bedclothes close over her body.

Afterwards, as she caught her breath and the scent of juniper clung to her damp skin, she felt Asmodeus run his fingers through her dark hair, and it tingled still from where his firm hand had gripped it tight. She waited, wondering what more he wanted, if it was just her or if it was something else.

But she did not have much hope; it was usually something else.

“Darling, I need you to do some work for me,” Asmodeus murmured, his breath hot against her throat.

“Work?” Crowley shivered. “Is it an assignment? Am I being reassigned to another city?”

“Nothing so formal, Crawley. It won’t take long. A few months. A year at most, I should think.” Asmodeus’ lips brushed against the bare skin of her shoulder.

Crowley tensed upon hearing that old and discarded name, the one that she had sloughed off like a snake’s skin. Immediately knew it was a mistake when she felt his hand tighten on her wrist. He knew what she wanted to be known as; this was a sign that nothing had changed between them. “I. I don’t think. That I should be doing anything that isn’t official business from Hell,” Crowley began, reciting words that she had practiced so many times alone until she knew she could say it to Asmodeus.

“My darling one, if an order comes from me, it is the official business of Hell,” Asmodeus said. “Don’t forget who I am. Now get up and get dressed, we have work to do.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

*****

For the rest of the afternoon, Aziraphale walked down to the harbor and watched the fishing ships sailing in and out, dodging swift triremes and round Phoenician merchant gauloi ships. As the sun began to set, he continued his walk around the waterfront until he stopped by a favorite fish restaurant and had a simple, leisurely supper of grilled fish, hot flatbread, and stewed vegetables. As he finished the last of the fish, he felt a pang of regret that he had not asked Crowley to dinner. 

But that could be amended, he thought. As he walked through the waterfront, he found his favorite bakery and bought some sesame honey cakes that he wrapped up in a clean cloth before taking the long way to Crowley’s house, stopping by the harbor once more to watch the sun set, the sky tinged beautifully pink.

It was a few hours after dark when Aziraphale knocked, but there was no answer. He hoped that the gate was unlocked, and sure enough, it was miraculously still open. 

“Sorry to intrude, my dear, I hope you’re not asleep already,” Aziraphale said loudly as he walked into the central courtyard. Perhaps he should have gotten wine too, he thought, but then he remembered that he had already brought wine a previous day when he came to call upon Crowley; an amphora from Egypt of an old favorite variety, and another from Lesbos that he knew Crowley was partial to.

“Let there be light,” Aziraphale murmured, and a gentle glow followed slightly above and behind his head as he walked into the dark building.

“Crowley? Are you asleep?” Aziraphale whispered loudly. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by unannounced; the gate was unlocked and besides, I brought honey cakes that I know you’re fond...” 

Aziraphale peeked into Crowley’s bedroom, peering around the doorway, the gentle golden light following him.

The room was empty, curiously so, the bed in tumbled disarray.

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale muttered, wondering where Crowley had gone off to. It wasn’t like him to leave his bed unmade; in fact, usually the bed was far too afraid not to stay orderly. And Crowley was usually here at this time unless there was some business that he had to do, and certainly he wouldn’t normally have wandered off without making his bed...

Catching a strange note to a familiar scent, Aziraphale leaned down toward the bed. Sniffing curiously, he glanced at the tangled blankets and very deliberately set one hand down on the rumpled bedding.

It was still faintly warm, and then he realized that the air smelled of roses and myrrh and juniper and…

Aziraphale’s breath caught, and he took a step back.


	3. Pomegranates and Honey Cakes

Between one step and the next, reality seemed to fold around them, the world fluttering like leaves in a gale as they stepped forward and suddenly they were somewhere else, in the deep shade of a sycamore tree in a courtyard garden, the moon shining bright through the leaves, leaving a mosaic of shadows staining the ground.

Dizzy, Crowley stumbled forward, nauseous from the sudden shift in reality, and Asmodeus caught her, steadying her.

“Careful. You’ve never grown accustomed to that, have you?”

Crowley shook her head and immediately regretted it, fighting back the nausea for a moment before remembering to miracle it away. She sighed, feeling Asmodeus’ arm tighten around her waist, leaning into the embrace before suddenly straightening up, remembering who she had become.

She drew away from his arm.

“Where are we, my lord?”

“My house in Ecbatana, in the land of the Medes. Just a little jaunt, nowhere far at all. This Ionian chiton won’t do; you’ll stand out.”

“They won’t even notice us, not unless we want them to,” Crowley began, but Asmodeus was already changing the contours of the dress around her shoulders, so that all of her body was covered, draped in a crimson dress of fine wool with long sleeves and trousers beneath it, all of it bordered with a twisted and tangled pattern of gold embroidery that reminded Crowley of two serpents entwined.

Her breath caught at the memory.

To distract herself, Crowley looked closely at the sleeves. Besides the embroidery, there was a subtle design of a stylized pomegranate tree that had been woven into the fabric, red against a red background, and when she lifted her arms, there was a tiny tinkle of metal, where golden pomegranate beads were twined in delicate bracelets around her wrists.

She turned her head and caught a glimpse of the long black veil that covered her head and hung down past her fingertips, held in place by an embroidered band.

“They might not notice, but I would. Gorgeous, a stunning Median beauty. Perfect in every way. Come, darling, let’s go.”

Stepping forward in embroidered felt shoes, Crowley followed in Asmodeus’ wake, her eyes following the gleaming gold of the Prince of Hell’s snake ring as they passed through the streets of Ecbatana. They came down from the upper city and stopped at a house, where torches burned merrily to light the courtyard and festive music seeped from the very walls themselves. The people inside came out in a flood, and Asmodeus and Crowley slipped into the crowd unnoticed. 

As they meandered their way through the streets following the wedding procession, Crowley felt at the new clothes, subtly changing the weave, so that it slid a little rougher against her skin, so that it wasn’t quite so infernally perfect, adding seams where there were none before, turning the dress a slightly darker shade of red. Then she focused on sliding the gold threads in the border first into electrum and then slowly edging the metal toward silver, just to see how far she could go without him noticing. She turned one of the golden pomegranate beads around her right wrist into a geometric bead of lapis lazuli, the one currently closest to her thumb and forefinger so she could hold the smooth bead between both fingers and think of something else. Someone else.

It didn’t seem that Asmodeus noticed, or if he did, he didn’t seem to care.

Soon they arrived at the groom’s house and as the bride was led inside, the two demons slipped in following her while the speeches were being made.

The sounds of the wedding party dimmed as they walked, their footsteps silent as they passed unnoticed through the humans.

Crowley glanced at a door that led out to a moonlit garden and covered her mouth with one hand so that she would not sigh; it was tempting to just run, to slip out into the night and into the guise of a serpent, tunneling into the hard-packed soil and disappearing into the darkness. But she could not, not as long as Asmodeus wanted her. 

Asmodeus paused at the doorway. “They do their best to keep us out, don’t they? As if a blessing in the Almighty’s name could stop us,” Asmodeus murmured, his fingers trailing over container in the doorframe that held a written blessing as he opened a door for Crowley, letting Crowley step in first.

“I don’t think that’s how a mezuzah works,” Crowley muttered. 

“Quiet, they’ll be here any minute. You’ll know what to do when I give you the signal?”

“No, I don’t,” Crowley said crossly, even though she knew all too well what was likely to be expected from her. After all, this wasn’t the first time. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“To freeze people, darling. You’re quite good at that, aren’t you? Your little parlor trick that’s been so very useful for me.” 

“Point me out who you want stopped, my lord,” Crowley said dully, a quiet rising panic in her heart wondering what Asmodeus was about to do.

*****

Aziraphale paused to unlock the front gate, his hand trailing over the smooth wooden doorframe. Once he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he realized that he was still holding onto the cloth-wrapped honey cakes. Miraculously, the sticky sweets had not soaked through the cloth, but it couldn’t be helped; it had to be eaten if it was not to go to waste. So he unwrapped the cakes but then realized it would be better if it were set out on a dish of some sort; after all it wasn’t as if he was having a snack in the Agora while watching a philosopher expound on the nature of Nature. So Aziraphale went to get a lovely shallow golden lobed bowl that he liked. 

And then after he arranged the cakes and sat down, he thought, well perhaps it would be better with something to drink. Wine was out of the question, they had certainly had enough of that already this afternoon, and fresh water from the spring didn’t seem like an appropriate companion to honey cakes. But then he thought, Crowley was right; the wind blowing off the Mediterranean at night was a bit cold and damp, so Aziraphale proceeded to start a little fire in the hearth and heat up some spring water. While he was waiting for the water to boil, he went and found his favorite cup, a double-handled kantharos painted on one side in red figure and on the other in black figure, both sides showing a charioteer urging his team of two horses onwards to victory.

Finally, with a steaming tisane made from dried mint, rosebuds, and lavender, as well as a plate of honey cakes, Aziraphale sat down at his desk and lit the lamp.

The curving bronze tree that held the oil lamp trembled and the lamp smoked faintly. Aziraphale gave it a mild look of reproach, and the lamp began to burn cleanly, the flame bright and clear.

It was nice to keep busy, Aziraphale thought, glancing at the unrolled papyrus on his desk, weighted down on one side with a flat papyrus weight, and on the other with a quartzite knife. Lots to do between blessings and healings; bills to pay, books to read, suppers with a friend…

His eyes drifted to the text:

_Ten years behind, ten years athwart his way_  
_Waiting and home, lost and unfriended..._

Aziraphale looked away, gently moving the knife so that the scroll rolled up on itself with a hiss of crisp papyrus. 

He turned his attention back to the food. First he took a bite of the sesame honey cake, savoring its sweetness. Then he took a sip of the hot drink, and the scent of roses filled his nose and the sweetness of honey was washed from his mouth, leaving only a lingering aftertaste.

Troubled, Aziraphale got up and paced the room, the reading forgotten, the honey cakes going stale, the hot drink turning cold.


	4. A Wedding Night

The bride came in first, chaperoned by some older women who left her at the doorway. The human came in alone, walking with hesitant footsteps to the bed that was down the narrow hallway and around the corner from the entry. As she walked in past Crowley, her eyes met Crowley’s eyes, and for a moment Crowley was frozen with shock, thinking she had been seen. But the human had not seen Crowley; she had merely glanced up at some decorative tile set in the wall behind Crowley’s head.

Behind the genuine happiness evinced in her expression it seemed that the human’s eyes were sad and full of fear, and Crowley wondered if it was the fear of what was to come, being bedded by a man that she had seen perhaps only once or twice before the marriage.

Or more troubling, perhaps it was fear of Asmodeus, whose eyes had followed her with a flat predatory gaze as she passed.

Before Crowley could say something, the groom came in and cheerfully locked the door behind him. With a gesture, Crowley stopped time, careful to limit it to just the human and nothing else so as not to give away what she was really doing, and the groom froze, his hands still on the handle. Beyond the entry in the bedchamber, Crowley could hear the bride moving about, the rustle of her clothes and her long trailing veil.

“Lovely work, my darling one.” Asmodeus caressed her face. “You needn’t stay, I can take it from here. Go back to my house and wait.”

“I think I’d prefer to wait here, my lord,” Crowley said.

“Suit yourself. It may be some time,” Asmodeus smirked, and as he brushed past the frozen bridegroom, he changed his face, taking on the poor human’s appearance.

“My lord…!” Startled, Crowley realized what was about to happen and began to frantically think of a distraction.

“Yes? What is it?”

“I...” 

“Yes?”

“Would? Uh, er, that is, ah wouldn’t you rather prefer me instead?” Crowley whispered. “And not a human...”

“Oh, Crawley,” Asmodeus slipped out of his disguise to come to Crowley’s side, stroking his long fingers through her hair. His hand cupped her face, catching her chin, and he turned her eyes up to meet his. She tensed, unable to look away from the intensity of his brilliant green eyes. “You know that I love you and no one else. You’re the only one for me, my darling. Humans are an altogether different matter; it’s a passing fancy, nothing more, like having a taste for a bite of fruit or a sip of wine. It’ll be over soon, I promise. This means nothing to me, not like you.”

And then Crowley shut her mouth, feeling her arguments dry up. There was nothing that could be done. She watched as Asmodeus changed his face, becoming someone else. “You’re right. It’s nothing, my lord. Just, I wish that...no, it’s nothing.”

*****

“Nothing can be done,” Aziraphale said calmly to himself once more. “Absolutely nothing can be done. What could be done? He can’t disobey a Prince of Hell, just like I can’t disobey an Archangel. It’s not like I can go after him...” The mad thought filled his mind for a moment, sending a jolt of excitement through him but then Aziraphale drooped, slumping down onto the empty supper couch in the dim and shadowy room, remembering that he had no idea where Crowley could have gone.

Besides, it would be too dangerous. Far too dangerous to face Asmodeus again; who knew what could happen? It wasn’t a good thing to tempt a demon. Aziraphale shivered, remembering the last time he had seen Asmodeus, decades ago. 

And the thought of seeing Crowley at Asmodeus’ side, a mocking smile on Crowley’s face, Crowley’s hand touching Asmodeus’ hand, their fingers entwined…

Aziraphale shook off the thought, refusing to entertain such notions. 

_You don’t know who or what I am._

And from that, Aziraphale knew two things; that Crowley meant what said, that there were aspects of Crowley’s life that Aziraphale could never know, that he could never even guess at. But more importantly, that he knew Crowley was wrong. Perhaps he didn’t know everything, but he knew that he understood Crowley better than anyone else, even a crowned Prince of Hell. 

“After all, I am a Principality myself,” Aziraphale said out loud.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and wondered what it would be like to be swooping in to rescue Crowley from the infernal wiles and clutches of the evil Asmodeus. After all, it would be impossible to track where they had gone; it was not by a method that Aziraphale could have even tried to follow.

Perhaps it would be worth convincing Heaven to move against the Prince of Hell. Or maybe he could inquire with the Earth Observation department regarding the whereabouts of Asmodeus and thus Crowley by extension. Inquiry was unlikely, he’d probably have to sneak in and break into the vaults themselves, finding the right information. Then he would take the ladder down to that point on Earth and with some simple basic snooping, find Crowley and slip him out from under the grasp of his infernal master. There would be a confrontation, a fight. 

Flaming sword in hand, he’d fight Asmodeus for Crowley, receiving some wounds certainly, but nothing fatal as Heaven triumphed over Hell in proxy, or at least in Aziraphale. Crowley would be so grateful, tenderly patching up his injuries. Aziraphale would redeem the fallen angel, taking away the taint of Hell from Crowley with his love and triumphantly return to Heaven with Crowley in his arms. And then once it was clear that the Fallen could be redeemed, Heaven would go back to the way it was before the Fall, with that lovely infinite stillness and peace that spread throughout the cosmos, that deep and loving intimacy that it had lost so very long ago.

The rebellion would end, the wars would be over, and it would all go back to what was most important: love.

Aziraphale sighed. It was a nice thought, a wonderful dream though ultimately futile. Heaven did nothing to thwart Princes of Hell, just as Hell did nothing to thwart Archangels; it would upset the tenuous balance of peace between the two sides, and these days no one was up to risking war. There was still that unpleasant matter of both sides missing key players so no one side knew for sure who would win. 

He tried to picture what kind of documents would be needed to request the relevant Earth Observation files; by the time he received it, Asmodeus could be anywhere, even in Hell where they had no jurisdiction. Trying to imagine what would happen if he went in by force was unthinkable; something terrible would happen to him that he might never recover from. There was no mercy for a rebel; that was made abundantly clear ages upon ages ago.

With a sigh Aziraphale sat up, stretching his arms, feeling the muscles in his body tremble as he strained his limbs, as if he could reach out far enough to embrace Crowley and draw Crowley back to him.


	5. Pacing

Trembling as her felt shoes and the hem of her long dress slowly stained darker, Crowley inched away from the growing pool of steaming blood until her back was pressed to the wall, the coppery scent filling the air until there was nothing else but the scent of blood. The human had died without ever coming to full consciousness, hemorrhaging blood from his mouth at a gesture from Asmodeus so that it stained the entire entry of the bridal chamber.

“Why did you do it? You didn’t have to kill him did you?” Crowley asked, afraid to glance down the narrow hallway back into the bedchamber to see if the bride was still alive. Asmodeus let them out discreetly, the blood disappearing from their clothes before they stepped beyond the threshold; no one noticed them leaving, and those who waited outside the nuptial chamber did not see the door open and close to let the demons out.

“My darling Crawley, always full of questions. That’s why you’re here by my side and not rotting away in the cold vaults of Heaven. You know that the humans expect some blood on the nuptial night; I only gave them what they wanted.”

Behind them, the sound of screams and wails, and Crowley took a deep breath so as not to flinch.

“Blood?”

“The blood of a virgin. Not that he was one; the men rarely are, are they? Even as they expect the women to be. But they’ll think she’s a virgin still; I made sure of it. And so she’ll stay mine as long as it pleases me, without another man touching her. Why they keep trying to marry her off, I don’t know. You’d think after a handful of dead grooms, someone would stop trying to find her a husband. Thankfully you’re here to make it easier; I have had more than a tussle or two in the past with these men.”

“I am grateful to be of service, my lord,” Crowley said automatically, her voice bereft of feeling, watching with cold eyes as humans rushed past them to aid the fallen. Too late, she thought, far too late.

“You know, she looks rather like you under that bridal veil. A rare beauty, with black hair the color of a moonless night, and golden brown eyes the color of honey...” Asmodeus sighed. “A gem-like beauty for any being, human or not.”

“You know I’m here,” Crowley muttered. “You needn’t chase humans.”

“Oh, but they’re ever so much fun.” Asmodeus caught Crowley by the wrist, drawing her to him, close enough for her to catch the scent of someone else’s perfume on him. “You’ll stay with me in Ecbatana for now. There’s no pressing business for you; I’ve made sure of it. Your calendar’s clear for the next ten years; someone less important will be doing those little temptations and assignments that you’re sent to do.”

“Ten...years? I thought you said-”

“What’s with that expression, darling? There have been times when you’ve been with me longer on Earth; this is nothing, just a little vacation.”

“Oh.” Crowley managed a smile, one that almost looked genuine. “Just surprised, that’s all. Didn’t think you’d want me for so long. Usually you don’t need me for more than a day or two. How long has it been since we’ve spent so much time together?”

“Too long, my darling. Far too long.” Asmodeus stole a kiss, and it seemed to her that she could still taste the human on his lips.

*****

If he could just get past merely kissing hands and cheeks, Aziraphale thought as he tread the tile floor of his house, circling through the study, the supper room, the bedroom, and eventually adding to the circuit the courtyard so he could see the gleaming moon as he paced.

If he could just build up the nerve to invite Crowley to his bed. It wasn’t something that he did; it had been millennia since he was asked to bed anyone, and that was at the orders of Heaven. It seemed an easier task when it was as part of an assignment, but here he had the option to save Crowley, to redeem the Fallen, and all it took was tainting the other angel physically, or more accurately, untainting Crowley, drawing the toxicity of Hell from those slim shoulders and soft hair, from that scowling face and those long legs.

It was just a matter of joining, Aziraphale thought. Shouldn’t be hard, just go for it and try one’s best. He remembered what it was like; a little awkward at times certainly but the basic mechanics were simple once the process was started. While there were many variations, it didn’t take much to accomplish, and it was easy to let the animal part of the body take over while the angelic side watched with bemused curiosity.

Physical intimacy, to replace that of the union of souls that Heaven used to represent. And when he tried to remember what that was like, it was elusive; all he remembered was closeness but whether it was physical or something else, it was hard to pinpoint. Then again, he thought, it couldn’t have been physical; they weren’t issued bodies until much later.

He had been trying for some time to bring himself to redeeming Crowley; after all, if Asmodeus was right and he could be drawn into falling through intimacy with a Prince of Hell, it followed that an ordinary fallen angel could be drawn into ascending through intimacy with a Prince of Heaven. Though, it did occur to Aziraphale that perhaps only an Archangel could do that, but no, the difference in ranks was nearly wide enough and besides, Aziraphale had God on his side.

But it didn’t answer why he couldn’t just seduce Crowley, and here Aziraphale realized that it came down to love. Did he or didn’t he love the fallen angel?

It made sense that he loved everything and everyone; after all, he was an angel, a being of love. But while it was easy to love all of humanity, and even all of the Fallen, things began to get a bit tricky when pointing that love specifically at one being.

Of course he loved Crowley. But was it like everything else in Creation, or was it somehow different? And when Aziraphale found that he couldn’t answer that, he paced an ever longer circuit, until he found himself outside the walls of his own house.

It was dark and cold, and when he realized where he was, he sighed, knowing just how silly it was. No point in reflecting so hard, he thought; the answer would either come to him or not, but it would take time. So he went back inside, locking the gate behind him.


	6. Music

With a gesture, the door unlocked itself, and Asmodeus motioned for Crowley to step inside.

She had only seen the courtyard and the entry when they had first arrived, but now that she had a chance to look around, it was clear that Asmodeus’ house was grand, just below the lowest gates of the great palace of Ecbatana, built up almost against the high white-washed wall. Trees and vines shaded the courtyard from view, and the rooms that were built around the central courtyard were splendid and pleasant, with thick walls to protect it from the harsh winter winds that came off the mountain.

As they walked into a dark room, lamps lit around them, flames sparking to life at Asmodeus’ command. Crowley looked around; the bedroom was huge and lavishly appointed, though eclectic. There were wall hangings from Ionia and India, alabaster vessels from Egypt, silk drapery from China, a geometric spiraling reed basket that Crowley was sure came from across the distant ocean, and by the bedside, a small gleaming bronze statue in an archaic style that Crowley realized was a depiction of Beelzebub, or what the humans sometimes called the First Prince of Hell, Baal.

She said nothing, but this was definitely a place that Asmodeus had owned for some time, and she wondered what made it worth it for him to show her this secret abode and when he meant to burn it to the ground now that she knew about it.

“Serving human, play us some music,” Asmodeus said and Crowley nearly jumped, realizing there was a person who had been sitting on the floor near the bed in darkness, hardly moving until addressed. His eyes were blank and dazed, but when his head turned toward Crowley, she could see the fear, the panicked dread that lay beneath the smooth-glazed surface of enthrallment.

“Yes, Lord Asmodeus.” With a groan the human stood and moved over to a harp that had been set in a corner, half-hidden to Crowley’s view by heavy curtains. The human sat down, taking a moment to tune the instrument in a rough manner, not at all detailed nor delicate, and then began to strum a tune, mechanically precise but as though the feeling had been stripped out of the music, replaced with monotonous perfection.

A deep tremor went through the human’s hands, but even so he still played on, and Crowley shivered, hearing the underlying fear in his music.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Asmodeus drew Crowley close for a kiss, and Crowley struggled to not pull away, though she turned her head slightly so that his lips touched her cheek.

“There’s a human in the room, my lord,” Crowley began, but Asmodeus shrugged it off.

“So? Does it matter?”

“It wouldn’t matter for him to see us?”

“Why not? It’s not as if he’ll remember it. I keep all my servants gently subdued; they won’t remember their time here with me.”

“They’re supposed to have free will, my lord. Is it right for them to be so...”

“He has the free will to work for me, and I provide him food and a roof over his head. If some of the other details are a little bit unusual by human standards...well, I am a Prince of Hell, after all, and I have my standards.”

The words were on Crowley’s lips, that it was cruel to do this to humans, but she closed her mouth. After all this was at least some of the business of Hell, the spreading of misery, of cruelty, but she preferred it when it was done with a softer hand. A lighter touch was needed, one that didn’t overwhelm and overshadow the delicate lives of humans, who remembered so much, even when they weren’t supposed to remember it at all.

Asmodeus kissed her lazily as the music played, stroking her hair, and Crowley wondered which scale it was that the harp was tuned to, that it played with such a strange and mournful sound.

Aziraphale would know, Crowley thought wistfully.

*****

In between pacing, Aziraphale practiced. In particular, he practiced tuning his kithara, which was an art unto itself. First he tuned it to Mixolydian, then Lydian, and Phrygian. By the time he started on Dorian, he lost patience for it, and tuned the kithara to Common so he could play something that he liked. Taking up the kithara, he strapped it to his body, adjusting it until it sat comfortable against his chest, and picked up the plectrum where it swung from its braided cord. 

With a gentle flick of the plectrum over the strings, he began one of his favorite songs, a piece by Sappho, but then thought the better of it, taking a moment to think of what else was tuned to this mode, and switched to Anacreon.

_Boy with the virginal glance,_  
_I court you, but you pay no heed,_  
_unaware that you drive_  
_the chariot of my heart..._

Aziraphale shivered and dropped the plectrum, which trembled the cord it was attached to as it fell. His fingers touched the strings to pluck them, meaning to go onto the next section of the song but then he realized he couldn’t. His thumb slipped and it sounded the first note, the deepest note, and the vibration that it sent through the kithara sent a shudder through his entire body.

He set the kithara down carefully on his desk, adjusting the instrument so that the plectrum was not caught underneath the soundbox but stayed obediently by its side. 

Perhaps a strong cup of wine would be good right about now. But then when he got up to get it, he found himself pacing again.


	7. Wine and Games

“Serving human, bring us some wine,” Asmodeus said.

Crowley watched as the human got up to do Asmodeus’ bidding, bringing back a pitcher and a tall cylindrical wine cup, pouring them wine.

After Asmodeus was finished drinking, he handed her the vessel with the remainder of the wine. In her hands, the cup felt tenuous, the soft gold malleable, and Crowley pressed it carefully to her lips to take a sip of the golden wine within, cloudy with unsettled lees. Turning it in her hands, Crowley saw that the cup was formed in the shape of a two-faced woman crowned with coiling serpents, both faces framed - or perhaps chained - by long strands of earrings.

Crowley drank the wine down in quick gulps like swallowing medicine, feeling better for it after the long night.

“Come, sit with me,” Asmodeus said, reclining back on the bed among the cushions, gesturing for Crowley to join him. “I know you like to rest.”

“The sun’s coming up soon,” Crowley said, but followed anyway, obedient to his will, setting down the empty cup on a low wine table.

“Is it now? But that doesn’t matter to us. We are outside of the animal cycle of mortal beings, who are tied to the rhythm of the sun and the moon. You can rest your beautiful head anytime you like.” Asmodeus drew Crowley close, his hand curved possessively around her shoulder. “You’ve always been a little strange, haven’t you, darling? Enjoying this manner of rest as the humans do. What do they call it again?”

Crowley shifted, trying to get more comfortable. “They call it ‘sleep’, my lord.”

“Ah yes.” Asmodeus stroked her long curling hair, running locks of it through his fingers, bringing a long strand up to his lips for a kiss. “Sleep. An interesting habit you’ve picked up from these mortals. What happens when you do that?”

“Close my eyes. Doze off. And sometimes I dream.”

“Dream?” 

“Hard to explain,” Crowley said. “Something like...letting go and letting the mind wander.”

“Wandering thoughts. Seems dangerous, doesn’t it?”

“Oh no, I have no control over it. It just happens.” Crowley yawned. “No free will, my lord. I swear it.”

“Good.” Crowley put her arms around Asmodeus. From here, Crowley could hear his heart, a slow steady pace, and she closed her eyes, feeling his lips upon her forehead. She felt happier than she had in a long time, reveling in this moment of rare and pleasant intimacy that they sometimes had, his arms warm around her as she nestled against him. Her best memories of Asmodeus were like this, in the tight embrace of his arms. It couldn’t last long; he didn’t have the patience to stay by her side for much longer, but in this warm drowsy moment, she could forget everything and pretend that maybe there had never been a fall from grace, and that this moment of quiet intimacy could last forever.

Crowley fell asleep quickly, exhausted. 

Asmodeus laid back, feeling Crowley’s weight against his shoulder, a pleasing burden, and when he looked at the pale hand that clung to his black robes, the one strangely archaic bead of lapis lazuli among the golden pomegranates upon her wrist caught his eye.

Touching it, he wondered if he should change it back, but decided against it. 

“Crawley,” Asmodeus murmured. “Always full of your little secrets.” He pressed her hand to his lips; she did not wake, but shifted to draw closer to him. 

Careful not to wake her, he slipped out of her arms and left the room, the flames of the lamps snapping out of existence as he stepped out of the room, leaving nothing behind, not even smoke.

*****

Dawn, and the birds began to wake, singing their sleepy morning songs. Aziraphale was pleasantly surprised by the bright morning light seeping into the room. He sat down at his desk and blew out the lamp. That was enough pacing for one night, any more and he’d wear out the sandals or his floor, and he liked both of those quite a bit.

“And no more Euripides,” Aziraphale said out loud to himself. He went to the pile of new scrolls that he had been accumulating and rummaging through, found a copy of one of Aristophanes’ new comedies, _The Fry Cooks_, which he hadn’t had a chance to read yet.

So many things to read, Aziraphale thought, and as he read in a quiet murmur, he nibbled on the honey cakes which had gone slightly stale overnight but immediately perked up, freshening back up again in the angel’s hands. Some time later as the morning progressed, he heated some more water and this time made a tisane out of a handful of fresh mint that he picked from his garden, enjoying the hot drink as he read the comedy. Occasionally, with a smile on his face, he got up from his reading and puttered around the house, cleaning and wiping down surfaces, straightening the curtains, washing the dishes, and putting his scrolls in a new and better planned order. Unlike the other gentlemen of Ephesus, Aziraphale kept no servants or slaves but did his own cleaning, which really meant that everything was always rather dusty and cluttered, though ultimately clean as the world around him tended toward tidiness in its own way, just not how everyone else thought constituted tidy.

By afternoon, he had finished, and straightening up with a smile on his face he thought he should do something else. Perhaps a game of some kind. So he found his Petteia set and laid out the beginning pieces, only to remember too late that it was best played with two people. He sat down and rested his hand against his chin for a moment, thinking what other games he had. Hounds and Jackals, Twenty Squares...nothing that he could think of wanting to play was going to be playable by one person. Except perhaps knucklebones or dice, and he was not about to squat on the floor and toss knucklebones or dice. Hard on the knees, squatting.

So he played Petteia by playing the other pieces as Crowley would have moved them. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t played Petteia with Crowley, after all Crowley was the one who insisted they switch games from Twenty Squares, bringing the Petteia board with him one bright sunny afternoon. They had played it in the shade of an awning in a tavern courtyard, wrangling over the rules in that first play, Crowley pointing out all the possible stratagems with every turn, always with an eye for loopholes and inconsistencies. 

“’We have played Twenty Squares since nearly the beginning of the creation of Earth, angel, it’s time for something new,’” Aziraphale murmured to himself, amused, remembering Crowley’s words as he dug his fingers into the bowl full of round, flat black stones, feeling the slip of the cool game pieces against his fingertips, considering Crowley’s next possible move and then his own method of countering it.


	8. Games and Clothes

Crowley eyed the gaming board, digging her fingers into the bowl full of round, flat silver pieces, feeling the cold metal sliding against her fingertips as she scowled at the clusters of gold and silver pieces laid out on the incised square board, ebony inlaid with thin ivory strips, looking for a way out from the surrounding pieces that Asmodeus had laid out. A neat trap, Crowley thought, frowning, and she had been falling for it for ages now.

“What’s the matter? I thought you were fond of games,” Asmodeus said.

“Not the way you play them,” Crowley muttered.

“You’ve become rather rebellious, haven’t you?” Asmodeus leaned back on the cushions, watching Crowley with a curious look. “Don’t think that I haven’t noticed.”

Crowley closed her mouth, eyes downcast, striving to look modest.

“A word from me and you could be spending the rest of eternity rotting away in the dark. Is that what you want?”

“No,” Crowley whispered.

“Look at me.” 

Crowley looked up, focusing on a point near Asmodeus’ brow, feigning eye contact even as she kept a sharp observation on his expressions.

“And yet, I can’t say I dislike seeing you have more spirit.” Asmodeus folded his hands together, his eyes on Crowley, who knew better than to look away. “There’s something intriguing to think that perhaps you may have developed something like free will.”

“Free will? Me?” Crowley laughed nervously. “No, of course not, why would you think such a thing.”

“You’ve become rather mouthy. If I didn’t find it amusing, I would have you sent to Beelzebub. There’s a new experiment going on Downstairs; some project of the First Prince. A nice little retraining project that’s been running for some time now. You wouldn’t know about it, but they’ve been taking some of the more...difficult Fallen to task. Attitude adjustments. We’ve heard much about it from the Opposition and have developed our own techniques.”

Crowley felt herself grow hot and cold, all at once, remembering Aziraphale’s loss of his memories of the miracle year, that year when they roamed the Earth granting miracles as freely as the wind and the rain, without any fear of reprisal or condemnation. “Did you say...adjustments? From the Opposition?”

“Oh yes, their idea, but that doesn’t mean we can’t improve on it ourselves. There are methods of ensuring compliance beyond the fear of destruction. But I’m certain we never have to go there, do we, my darling?”

“No, of course not. It’s obvious that I’m always at your command, my lord.”

“Well then, it seems that you’ve lost this round, my dear. Why don’t we go do something more fun?” Asmodeus stood up and offered Crowley his hand, and Crowley glanced back at the board one last time to see the gleaming gold pieces that encircled and surrounded the silver pieces all over the board. 

*****

Many months later, Aziraphale decided it was high time to mend his clothes. So rummaging through his house, he pulled out items from his shelves and storage chests, looking for his sewing things. Of course, that meant that he had to rearrange everything that he took out, which took up most of the morning so that by afternoon, he was ready to mend. 

Needle, scissors, and thread ready, he hummed a pleasant tune to himself, something that he had heard in the Agora the other day, a new tune that he thought Crowley would like. One edge of the himation was frayed and worn, the side that draped closest to the ground, so he rehemmed it with neat little stitches so that the frayed edge would not show. The place where he usually pinned the himation was worn out with a series of holes and stretched threads, so he patched it on the wrong side with a bit of linen that he kept from another even older chiton that had long since worn out. Then he moved onto his chiton, which he inspected all over to make certain that there were no holes, but then he found threadbare sections where the belt had worn through the surface and he stitched those up, leaving a little line of stitches along the inside of the cloth that was invisible from the outside. It looked almost like folds there, and he thought it a good job done.

Too bad Crowley always miracled up his own clothes, Aziraphale thought; he never had the enjoyment of going through the mending process. There was always no small amount of pleasure to be had in just buying the little tools the humans used to fix their things; for example it was hard to find a delicate enough bone needle for the task and even harder to keep from breaking them. A light touch had to be used.

He sighed; it would be fun to mend things for Crowley too, if Crowley ever needed it, but like so many of the angels, fallen or otherwise, Crowley was resistant to change, to human things, and so never needed mending clothes that were miracled up. It would be nice if his own clothes didn’t wear out, but then they would lack the uniqueness of a human-made thing.

Humming to himself, Aziraphale put his sewing things away and put his clothes back on, stretching out his arms to admire his handiwork.


	9. Clothes and the Unmade Bed

Crowley stood very still with her arms out, as the human tailor draped her with sheer and fine silks dyed in vibrant colors, colors that must have come from far away. From a nearby chair, Asmodeus watched intently, his hand resting on his chin.

“Does it matter?” Crowley asked. “After all, there are...other ways of getting clothes.” 

“Oh, but human imagination is ever so interesting,” Asmodeus said. “Look at these fine silks; it reminds me of your beautiful dresses from Athens, only with a different sensibility. Think of the hundreds, thousands of tedious hours it took to spin the thread and weave the cloth, all that suffering and toil, all that anger and frustration. All those times when some low-ranked weaving or spinning human was beaten for a mistake, for wasting material, as if material was worth more than their dignity, than their very lives. And then the dangerous travel of hundreds of days, of thirst and hunger and greed and betrayal and death, just to bring it here to us. The sharp prick of the needle, the cut of the knives, the shears. And not all of it on cloth.” Asmodues smiled. 

“Oh. Right. Beautiful suffering. Frustration and unkindness. Anger and sin.”

“And then there’s the human. How he desires you; he lusts after you but he strains to stay professional. His fear of me overrides his lust for you.”

“He’ll hear...” Crowley winced, shying from the tailor’s hand as he bent to take a measurement with a bit of knotted string.

“He won’t.” Asmodeus stroked his chin thoughtfully. “What if I let him have you?”

Crowley’s mouth tightened, but she knew he was bluffing. At least, she hoped he was. “You know that I am as always...at your pleasure, my lord.”

“Polite as always when you’re afraid. No, you’re far too fine of a jewel to be sharing with anyone else, at least if I have any say in it. It’s different when Lucifer sends out orders but...” Asmodeus leaned back with a yawn. “I prefer to keep you to myself.”

“Why is that, my lord?”

“Why?” Asmodeus’ blond brow creased, and for a moment he looked genuinely puzzled, but then his face smoothed itself out. “Because you belong to me of course. I claimed you first of all my subordinates. You were the first one I named. Of course that must be it. You’re a prized possession, one of the most radiant of the Fallen.” 

The tailor turned her around. By the time Crowley turned back, she noticed that Asmodeus was still puzzling over it. When he noticed she was looking at him, his expression changed and he smiled as if nothing was wrong. 

*****

Still no one home. Aziraphale circled around the property once more, peeking in at Crowley’s things that were still left as they were, the bed unmade, the wine cups where Aziraphale had left them after washing them for Crowley, everything covered in dust and cobwebs from months and months of disuse.

Aziraphale ran into Crowley’s landlord on the way home from Crowley’s place, and the human wrangled with him briefly; it had been more than a year since Crowley had been seen, and the human was wondering where Crowley had gone off to. Not that it mattered much to the human; Crowley had paid for some years of rent in advance, but Aziraphale managed to placate the human with some story about a long journey, traveling to claim some money that had been put in trust with a person in a distant city. 

By the time he sent the human on their way, Aziraphale changed his mind about going home and went back to Crowley’s house again, wandering through silent, empty rooms before ending up where he had last been, standing at Crowley’s bedside, looking at the rumpled sheets.

“Where are you, Crowley?”


	10. The Rock Dove

Time passed in a slow trickle. There were days when Crowley wondered where Asmodeus had gone; he often left for long stretches, sometimes for months without a word. She knew that she could not leave, not without permission, and so she came up with ways to keep herself occupied.

At first, she worked on projects, ideas to help pass the time. For example, if the little bubbles in beer were somewhat bubblier, then the bubbles might create some kind of obscuring foam that would take some time to reveal the actual amount of beer in a cup. Then humans, with their predilection toward both fairness and dishonesty, would wrangle over even distributions of the drink as well as try to cheat each other out of a few sips. She had taken over Asmodeus’ kitchens for a few weeks until he returned and complained that she constantly smelled of yeast and ferment.

Then she thought, it might be a useful thing to convince humans to keep peacocks as personal pets, something attractive and fashionable to be sat on a lap. They were pretty, but loud and disagreeable and prone to biting. But then she remembered that she had tried geese before; that had been something of a failure. Instead of keeping them as irritating pets that liked to bite, humans domesticated them. That was a hard day in Hell, explaining why the project had failed as very few humans seemed interested in bringing one into their home, even though she had tried her best to make it seem desirable. Fortunately Asmodeus had been there to spin it in such a way that it seemed like a triumph, bringing angry bitey flappy creatures into human settlements, ones that were often more trouble than they were worth eating. And once she remembered how poorly the geese had gone, she decided she needed another project.

A method of devaluing silver and gold coins? Realigning the Royal Road to go through a malarial swamp? A new and exciting food trend that involved something that would be very dangerous to hunt and would be even more dangerous to eat. Even more new and exciting ways of generating bureaucratic paperwork, perhaps something like needing specially numbered tokens to attend certain important events, and paying extra just for the tokens. Maybe even paying extra to pay someone for the tokens... 

But then over time the project ideas dried up, and she found herself sleeping away much of the day to pass the time.

Often Crowley took naps in the garden on a hard stone bench beneath the sycamore tree, not daring to sleep on the grass for fear of mussing up the clothes that Asmodeus gave her. As the tree lost its golden leaves, she often woke covered in a fall of crisp leaves that crumbled between her fingertips. In the winter, she would brush off the piled-high snow and lie down, feeling the damp stone beneath her back, dozing off in the icy sunlight until Asmodeus himself would bring her back in, shivering and chilled through. He would drape a heated blanket around her shoulders, scolding her for her carelessness, bringing her in to warm up by the hearth or with him in the bed. In the spring, she slept under budding leaves until thunder and soft rains that dripped down her cheeks woke her from her slumber. In the summer, in the heat of midday, she dozed under a sun-dappled green canopy of leaves for as long as she could, until Asmodeus came to wake her, to draw her out of her dreaming daze. 

She slept and her dreams took her away from her life. Often she dreamt of the past, of a time when Aziraphale had spirited her away from Asmodeus’ island, the angel’s arms firm around her waist and beneath her knees. Had it been worth quarreling with Aziraphale? Would it be so hard to just do what Aziraphale wanted? What it seemed like he wanted? Perhaps all Aziraphale needed was someone to guide him; he didn’t fraternize with the humans, not as the Fallen did. Not that she knew of, anyway. Perhaps it was just a matter of letting him lead far enough so that she knew for certain that it was what he wanted, and then taking over; perhaps the angel had no experience and needed guidance. But then after all this time, why now? How had things changed? 

She had been right, she thought. Asmodeus making contact with Aziraphale made everything so much harder for them.

And when she realized that, finally she started wondering what Asmodeus had said to Aziraphale, before she had come along.

Sometimes as she laid down on the bench watching the birds, they would land on her body, perched on a knee, a shoulder. Sometimes a bold one would try to steal a strand of hair; that was never possible, but it would try, tugging at a single long hair until she shooed it off with a wave of her hand.

One morning as she lay watching the birds flirt and flit about the winter-bare branches of the tree, a rock dove landed on her breast and it settled there as if brooding, its soft gray feathers reminding her of another pair of white wings that she had not seen in some time.

The dove cooed, contented.

“Lucky. If only it were so easy to be happy,” Crowley muttered.

With a skeptical look in its orange eye, the rock dove preened and Crowley sighed. That was the kind of look Aziraphale was a master of, and this dove could not come anywhere close to Aziraphale.

“Look, you can stay if you like but not for much longer. Can’t let it be known that a demon’s let you sit on them and live. What would that do to my reputation?” 

The dove flapped its wings, feeling Crowley’s body move as she spoke, but stayed put.

“I should eat you. Is that what you want?” Crowley hissed, glaring at the dove with golden serpent’s eyes.

But the dove stayed, and before long Crowley reached out to it, to touch the tip of her finger to the gray feathers of the dove’s breast, noticing the subtle iridescent gleam of the feathers around its neck as she lightly stroked the bird. 

Its feathers were soft, and Crowley felt a pang of emotion go through her.

“Reminds me...of the past. You should go, little bird. Don’t stay here with me. Here there is nothing but death and ruin.” Crowley sighed, thinking of Aziraphale, wishing that she could be back by Aziraphale’s side. “After all, I am here at his will, until he’s done with me. Then and only then can I return to my own life.”

With a fluttering of wings the dove launched itself into the air, and Crowley sighed, plucking a gray feather off her black dress.

Twirling it between her fingers, she looked at it thoughtfully until she fell asleep again.


	11. The Messenger

When the moon was very bright, Aziraphale came over to Crowley’s place to water the plants. It was a dry winter, so Crowley’s garden was looking a little wilted. A little tender care was all that it needed, and with water and love the garden was looking as good as when Crowley was here himself. He trimmed the plants and the trees, making sure that things would not be too different for Crowley once he returned home. 

If he returned home. 

That was always the problem, wasn’t it? That they could be reassigned at a moment’s notice. That perhaps that last conversation they had could have been their last conversation. Recall to Heaven or Hell. A new assignment somewhere else. The world was both a very small and a very big place, and it was easy to not run into his counterpart for years, decades...even a century or more.

Anxiety gnawed at Aziraphale’s bones, fearing the worst, but there was nothing he could do, so he just let the feeling pass through him as best he could, as everything else did, and focused on task at hand. Watering the plants, refilling the bucket from the well, trudging through the familiar stone paths in the garden.

Once he was done with that, he went home and waited for the sunrise.

In the mornings when warm sunlight began to stream into his house, Aziraphale liked to eat his breakfast out in the courtyard and watch the birds that came to his garden, perching on the trees and shrubs, gliding down onto the ground to peck amongst the greenery for their sustenance.

This morning as Aziraphale nibbled on his breakfast, a particularly thin rock dove flapped down, landing beside him and it seemed to Aziraphale that it was underweight, emaciated, as if it had burned off all its fat reserves on a long flight.

The dove gave him a skeptical look with a bright orange eye, and Aziraphale sighed, remembering Crowley’s golden serpent-slitted eyes. It would take far more than a mere rock dove to come anywhere close to those scowly skeptical looks of Crowley’s. He took a bit of bread from his breakfast and reached out to the hungry bird.

But instead of pecking at the morsel, the rock dove hopped forward onto Aziraphale’s outstretched hand and opening its beak, began to speak.

“’After all, I am here at his will, until he’s done with me. Then and only then can I return to my own life.’” And then the rock dove’s beak closed with an audible click. It hopped down out of his hand and onto the ground, pecking hungrily at the dropped bread that had slipped out of Aziraphale’s lax hand.

“...well, goodness.” If ever that was a Crowley message, it certainly was clear; the bird even spoke in Crowley’s voice.

Aziraphale didn’t know such a thing was possible; that birds could be used to send messages and in particular, a message this exacting. It must have been a mistake on Crowley’s part, accidentally shifting his will onto a bird who had come to Aziraphale as fast as possible. The message that it brought was nothing new, nothing that he didn’t already know; Aziraphale had known from the beginning that there was nothing that could be done but to be patient. But it gave him a little hope, knowing that Crowley had not been recalled to Hell, and that he was waiting out an assignment to come back to his place in Ephesus. Or at least to be on his own again.

Even if it was Asmodeus…

Aziraphale felt a tremor pass through his body.

“If only I could send you back to Crowley with a message of my own,” Aziraphale said gently to the rock dove. But he knew it was a foolish thought; there was no way he could send this emaciated bird back. For one, it was poorly and would probably die before it made it back to Crowley and for another, it was too dangerous. A Prince of Hell had no compunctions against killing humans out of hand, much less a bird. It wouldn’t be fair to this bird who had been accidentally caught up in something far bigger than it.

So Aziraphale sighed and got up. He went inside and dug through his pantry, finding some shelled walnut meat, dried figs, and the rind of a hard cheese that he broke up into little bits with his hands to feed this poor little messenger who had come so far and had so little to give.


	12. Free Will

When sleeping in the garden wasn’t enough or when it became too much, Crowley would wander the house.

Asmodeus’ house was something more like a minor palace than a mere home, and Crowley often found herself looking through the rooms, investigating the art. Fine, elegant furniture from Egypt made of ebony inlaid with silver. A brazen statue of Asmodeus, but as an archaic kouros from somewhere in the Hellenic world. A stone wall panel depicting a muscular angel pollinating a sacred tree, and Crowley often wondered which of the angels it was, fallen or otherwise, that had been captured doing the work of the Lord, whether divine or infernal. She hadn’t done this work and it was certainly not Aziraphale, and so she wondered. A Prince of Hell, perhaps? An Archangel? Someone who sometimes had a raptor’s head, someone with a beard. So many possibilities.

Often she found herself spending her time in Asmodeus’ library, reading through a vast collection of works from all over the world. While it was hard to keep practicing all the human languages, Crowley found it easy to relax and let the meaning of the words flow into her, even if she could not quite read the specific words. That was the trick to languages; it had very little to do with how things were said but their meaning, and she could always grasp that and convey it even if she never learned the language. Only someone like Aziraphale would go to the lengths of learning to speak the actual words, as opposed to speaking the meaning directly to the humans and having it spoken back to them.

As for the humans, the Prince of Hell’s slaves did all the work of keeping house. Even though everything could be miraculously adjusted to Asmodeus’ taste, he kept human servants. But they were strange and so deeply in thrall that they hardly spoke and could not answer simple questions unless it had to do with basic tasks such as cooking, cleaning, or fetching.

Yet sometimes when Crowley spoke to them, she could see the fear straining behind their glazed eyes, and knew that they knew they were enthralled but could not break free. However she felt about it, there was nothing that she could do. Like the drapery, the statues, the ceramics, and all the other ornaments in the house, they belonged to Asmodeus. And like the gold and jewels and the gown upon her body, she belonged to him too.

And so working hard to please Asmodeus’ will, straining toward perfection, smiling brightly when he called to her even as she hid her true feelings within her heart, Crowley spent her days in quiet tension. 

But nights were the worst, because she could never know when she would be called upon to stop time for him.

*****

Her eyes were full of sorrow, of fear, and the lines of pain, of suffering were starting to etch delicately into her face, along the edges of her lips, her eyes. There was no more jubilant expression in her face, no more happiness, not even feigned acceptance, and Crowley felt a pang of pity as the bride walked past her yet again, the long flowing veil brushing against the backs of Crowley’s hands as the human passed by. 

Crowley rubbed her hands, and went through the motions of what was expected from her until Asmodeus left her alone again, to listen and stand witness to what she could not avert.

Pacing the narrow entry just outside of the bridal chamber, it seemed that Crowley could feel the reproachful eyes of the human groom upon her, even though he could not hear her.

She snarled, even though it was futile, at the person who was frozen in a moment of time, the human who had been eager to meet a bride that would only bring him death. The human wouldn’t remember. Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter much. After all, he would be dead soon.

“Don’t blame me,” Crowley hissed, glaring at the groom as she shivered, hearing the bride’s soft whimpers from the other room. “You’re the one who made this choice; no one told you to marry a woman whose previous husbands before her died unexpectedly on the wedding night. Just because her father’s rich and she has no brothers doesn’t mean that you should have put greed before common sense. After all, you’re a human. You can make your own decisions. You have free will. That’s more than I’ve got. More than I’ll ever have.”

And then Crowley realized that what she herself had was still more than the poor young woman in the next room. Because even she could tell Asmodeus no, even if Asmodeus didn’t listen. And this young woman could not even do that.

With a sound of frustration deep in her throat, Crowley crumpled to the floor, and for a moment her form wavered as she briefly lost control of which body she should be in until she remembered who she was expected to be.


	13. A Veil of Black Feathers

“Wake up,” Asmodeus gave her a shake, and Crowley snapped into consciousness, shivering as she sat up. It seemed to take her a long moment to realize that she was outdoors and that she was cold, that the late autumn wind was cutting through her clothes and that she had not been comfortable on this barren stone bench, not in a long time. Perhaps not ever.

He draped a heavy woolen coat over her shoulders, the fabric heated by some infernal means, and quickly she felt the shivering go away. 

The sound of the wind blowing through the golden leaves of the sycamore tree seemed almost like the gentle soughing of the waves of the Aegean and for a moment the longing for her own place in Ephesus was so intense that Crowley felt tears welling up in her eyes.

“You spend all day here. Why?”

Crowley shrugged, staring down at her feet as she blinked away the tears. There was nothing that she could say that wouldn’t draw his ire, so she said nothing.

“Do you particularly like this garden? This bench?”

Crowley shook her head.

“Then why don’t you do something else?” The Prince of Hell looked away from her, even as he buttoned her coat.

“Like what?” Her voice sounded dead to herself, and she winced, wondering if he had noticed. The thought of trying to find something new to read in Asmodeus’ library filled her with dread, and the thought of finding something new to look at in this high-walled compound was even worse. She prayed that he would not want to play a game, or worse yet, talk.

Asmodeus said nothing for a long moment, and straightened the coat about her shoulders once he buttoned it up. 

“Fine. You have my permission to go out about Ecbatana as you please,” Asmodeus said, grudgingly.

“Really?” Crowley’s expression brightened, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Really.” Asmodeus stroked his hand along her cheek, turning her face up to him. His eyes were unreadable, but he looked directly into her eyes as though they could tell him something that she couldn’t, and it didn’t even bother her.

*****

The moment she stepped outside of the gates of his grand house, Crowley took a deep breath, feeling as free as that first day on Earth when she was sent on her first assignment here, free from the stifling confines of Hell and its vicious petty hierarchies. With great joy she thought about wandering through the markets, the temples, the neighborhoods, but then realized that she had something far more important to do.

Immediately she went to find the house where all the troubles began. It was easy to trace her steps back to the bride’s family home; the assignments had always started there and followed the wedding party to the groom’s house. Those other homes would have been much harder to find, Crowley thought, as she had mostly tried to forget or had forgotten the other houses, but she could not forget this one.

The hard part, of course, was figuring out which room the young woman was in, and so Crowley strolled in, careful to keep herself hidden from human eyes. But then the first room she walked into from the outer courtyard, a receiving room, was fortuitously occupied. From the richly embroidered tasseled coat and the gold-chased silver rhyton in his hand filled with fine wine, it was evident that this was the master of the house, and so she froze him with a snap of her fingers.

“All right,” Crowley hissed. “Let’s take the direct route.”

Walking over to the man, she looked directly into his eyes and gently eased time back as she hypnotized him with a serpent’s gaze.

“Father of the bride, forbid your child from marriage. Refuse to agree to any man’s suit, no matter how lucrative. This has gone on too long as it is. Too much blood has been shed. You must stop it.”

“No,” the human said in a daze.

“No?!” Crowley was taken aback. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“My master commands me to give her away in marriage. I need someone from my father’s tribe to marry her in order to inherit the family business...someone of the faith, someone suitable. No foreign man shall have her. I have no son, no other child to be my heir, and I need a close relative or other kindred to give my daughter a proper home. I cannot give my child away to strangers, to fornication and loss and poverty...”

“The way this has been going, you won’t have much more family left to inherit the family anything!” Crowley snapped, but then realized what question she really should be asking. “Who is your master?”

“I do not know his name and have only seen him once in my dreams, but he has hair like torch fire.”

“Asmodeus!” Crowley snarled, her fists clenched. She paced a short angry circle and somehow managed not to kick the furniture. There was nothing she could do to override Asmodeus’ command, nothing she could do to bypass Asmodeus’ power over the human’s mind; it would take an angel to undo a compulsion placed by a demon lord. Not for the first time she wished that Aziraphale was by her side.

Crowley heaved a sigh of frustration and then came back to the human.

“Wake in an hour, remember nothing.” 

The human said nothing. Crowley glared at him for a moment longer, and then left him where he was standing, in a daze.

She wandered through the house, peeking into rooms. Here were the kitchens, where the servants were getting the evening meal ready. There, storage rooms for food, for goods, for all the fine trade items that were sent off to the distant eastern lands or brought from there. Crowley had some trouble finding the young woman until she remembered that the women in this part of the world would live in their own wing of the house, separate from the ordinary day-to-day maintenance of the home.

So she went upstairs.

She found the young woman alone in the waning light of day, a frail figure half-hidden by shadow, kneeling beside her bed, narrow but with a heavy dark wooden frame decorated with carvings. Her black mourning clothes had been set aside, hanging listless over the elegantly curved back of a chair. She was in a thin colorless linen shift despite the cold autumn wind that came through the high slit of a window, and she glanced over at the new gown that awaited her, draped across the bed. It was the color of pomegranates and its brilliant color was a splash of crimson against the pale bedclothes. 

“Father won’t listen. He’s set on it, no matter what. Even begging won’t-”

She sighed.

But then she turned away, and she was praying, her hands outstretched.

Crowley watched her for a long time, unable to hear the words distinctly. But as she turned her head toward the dying light, Crowley saw that her cheeks gleamed with tears.

“...you know, O Master, that I am innocent of any defilement with a man. I have never knowingly done any wrong. But...again I have had that dream. A nightmare where a great serpent has embraced me, many times, and I don’t know what it means...” And she collapsed upon her own arms, her choked sobs muffled against the bed.

“If I could free you, I would,” Crowley said, her voice catching in her throat. But there was nothing that she could do for the human that would not leave something of herself that Asmodeus could recognize, a hint of her powers.

The young woman whispered her prayers fervently, and then sighed.

“Why should I still live?” Her voice quavered.

The words sent a chill through Crowley and later when she looked back upon it, she realized that it was in this exact moment that she knew what she ultimately had to do.

Exhausted, the young woman collapsed against the bed, her head resting against her arms, and soon Crowley heard only the soft, even sounds of her breaths as she slept, a troubled dreamless sleep.

Crowley sat down on the floor beside the young woman, and put her arms around the thin shoulders. But it was not enough, so she unfolded her wings, shrouding them in a veil of black feathers. 

Even in her sleep, tears seeped from her eyes and so Crowley stayed by her side as the young woman wept, holding her close, the human’s head resting on her shoulder, a heavy burden. That was as much as she dared to do; Crowley had already tried her best for the human but there was no way around it.

“Right now it looks hopeless,” Crowley said softly, knowing the human could not hear her but speaking anyway. Feeling dampness against her neck, she brushed a stray tear from the young woman’s face and it clung to her finger like a jewel. “But I promise you that I will release you from him. Whatever it takes.”


	14. Prayers

When it was over and the groom’s blood stained the floor, Asmodeus offered Crowley his arm gallantly. 

“Who were you talking to, my darling?”

“Just muttering to myself as always, lord,” Crowley said defiantly, though she took Asmodeus’ arm and let him lead her out of the bridal chamber.

“Very amusing. Next time stay quiet, I don’t want to trouble my lovely virgin. She already has a lot on her hands,” Asmodeus smirked.

“My lord, the humans know.” Crowley looked up to Asmodeus, intentionally meeting his eyes in the dimly lit hallway. “They remember, even if we tell them not to. It’s something we can’t control. Don’t you think it would be best to let her go? She knows what’s been going on...they all do.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I can see it in their eyes. Even when they’re enthralled, they know that they’re being controlled. And the longer it lasts, the worse it is on them. Have you ever followed up with those servants that you set free? Do they last long after you’re done with them?”

“Crawley...” Asmodeus hissed. “Are you questioning me?”

“No, my lord. Of course not. Not you. Why would I question you? Only...the method in general.” Crowley tensed, flinching back at Asmodeus’ anger. “Because...your lovely maiden might remember. Not while awake, not aware of it in the daylight hours perhaps but in her body and her dreams. Humans are strange like that. Their bodies remember more than their minds. And when it comes back...sometimes they hurt themselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“Knives. Poison. Hurling themselves off a high place. And if not that, they sometimes just wish for death and lose the will to live. I know. I’ve heard their prayers for centuries, just as you have. And their prayers are for death.”

“So it benefits us.” Asmodeus’ mouth moved into the cold parody of a smile, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Why are you so concerned, darling? You know this isn’t the first time nor will it be the last time I’ll take a human as I like. After all, there are ever so many of them and they come and go in their season, like the fruit on the vine or the leaves on the trees. Besides, if this were not part of the Great Plan, wouldn’t I be thwarted? Wouldn’t the Almighty send some great champion to stop me? Wouldn’t someone hear and consider their prayers? Perhaps even answer them? No. Of course not. There are no miraculous interventions, my darling, not for anyone. No one is listening. Not even God.”

Crowley looked away.

Asmodeus took her by the wrist, pulling her out of the house and into the dark streets, his bright green eyes sharp with suppressed rage. “Remember that you are a demon. Not just a fallen angel.”

“As if I could forget.”

*****

There was no regular pattern to the mornings when the messengers arrived. But as time passed, Aziraphale was slowly gathering a menagerie of birds of all sorts that had flown the long journey from Crowley. Rock doves, sparrows, starlings, larks, wrens, crows, magpies, swans, geese, a green parrot, a woodpecker, a hoopoe, a crane, two vultures, a golden eagle, a sharp-eyed falcon, long-legged black storks, and even a pale pink flamingo and a very tired quail that had walked for ages to get to him, all gathered in his yard. He had to make two or three trips a day to the markets some days just to feed them all; they left only after they were rehabilitated and strong enough to fly away. 

The messages were never very long, and they were often unhelpful. But it was a connection, and Aziraphale was grateful for it, no matter how tenuous. He kept a new roll of papyrus upon which he would carefully write the messages that he received.

“’I wonder how he’s doing. Do you think he’s happy?’” A lark had said.

A black swan, in Crowley’s sardonic voice had said, “’If he could just be done with this stupid mania, I could go home.’”

“’I can’t stand this.’”

“’You can’t understand what it’s like being used like this.’”

“’I don’t want to do this anymore.’”

“’I thought I loved him. But perhaps it was just that he was the only one I was allowed to love.’”

“’Maybe it would be better if I was recalled permanently.’”

“’Do you think I could get a transfer and work for Beelzebub instead? Or anyone else for that matter.’”

“’He says he loves me.’” 

“’What ways out are there?’”

“’Why must I keep doing this? Is he right? That it’s all part of the Great Plan if he’s allowed to kill all these people without divine interference?’”

“’I don’t think I can bear this much longer.’”

“’You can’t know what he’s made me do. I know it’s worse for her. I know I don’t have to stay in the same room but...she’s suffering too and I can’t stop him.’”

“’And still he calls it love. But I know what love is. Was. Back before the Fall there was plenty of it, and no one had to hoard it for themselves.’”

“’What ways out are there? How can I fly away like you do? Just having wings is not enough.’”

“’Why should I still live?’”

But no matter what he heard, no matter how many times he was left stunned, his eyes brimming with tears that he feared to shed under the watchful eye of Heaven, Aziraphale kept himself under control, and worked on feeding these tired and emaciated birds. That was something he could do, somewhere he could do something positive. There was no way he could intervene in the internal affairs of Hell, not without consequences from Heaven as well. 

And so Aziraphale did what he could, staying busy, keeping himself occupied, knowing what he could not do.


	15. Consequences

“You’re late.” 

“Does it matter?” Crowley strolled into the entry, cool eyes moving over the corpse splayed out on the floor.

“Yes it matters,” Asmodeus hissed. “Thanks to you I had to kill him first. Where have you been?”

“Why would it matter when you kill the bridegroom? Before or after, dead is dead,” Crowley said, her voice quavering at the end of the phrase.

“You said you’d meet me here, and that you knew where it was. So what is your excuse?”

Crowley shrugged, looking away. “Got none.”

Strong hands grabbed her shoulders, slamming her against the wall, and she gasped, finding herself facing Asmodeus, brilliant green eyes incandescent with rage. 

“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t punish you for this or any of your other past failures,” Asmodeus hissed.

Trembling, as tense as a strung harp string quavering in the wind, Crowley met his eyes. “I have no reasons. Why don’t you just send me to Beelzebub and get it over with? Have me locked up forever in the deepest pits of Hell. Or have them make me more obedient. Wouldn’t it be better if I were obedient to you always? If I had no mind of my own anymore, no memory of anything other than you. Then I’d never fail you. I’d be what you want me to be. My lord.”

“What are you saying?”

“That maybe...it would. Be better. If. If you sent me down to be...”

Asmodeus let her go abruptly, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. “I will forgive you this time. Do not fail me again.”

“Yes, my lord.” Crowley whispered, straightening her gown with shaking hands.

*****

A shift in the energy in the room, and Aziraphale stood up, feeling something change. And upon his desk a small wax tablet appeared, glowing faintly for a moment before settling into ordinariness.

With trepidation, Aziraphale opened it, the wood yielding with a click. 

“’Report to heaven immediately. Await further orders upon arrival.’” Aziraphale made a face, thinking that it certainly read like Michael, and upon further investigation noted that the orders were definitely written in the Archangel’s neat and precise hand. 

But then he smiled; a summons to Heaven for new directives meant a change of scenery, and Aziraphale could almost kiss the tablet with gratitude, happy to be given something to do, something to stay busy with. 

“Well, what can be done? Orders are orders,” he said aloud to himself, pleased to have something to do, and stepping out into the courtyard, he unfolded his wings and was off, heading for the nearest ladder.

*****

Asmodeus waited, and yet there was still no sign of Crowley. Impatient, he slammed his fist against the wall, cracking the plaster, and yet she was still not here. She was late again.

“Crawley,” he hissed, angry. “This won’t do at all. There are consequences for your failures.”

At that moment, the door opened, and the groom walked in, his face hidden by a fold of his black cloak. He was tall for a human and slim, and he walked in with the foolish confidence of youth in his step, as if eager to meet his bride. 

Or his doom. 

In his wrath, Asmodeus struck out with a viper’s long fangs, piercing the human’s vitals in one quick blow. 

He licked his lips, tasting hot, fresh blood.

The human stumbled, his hands reaching out to stabilize himself on the wall. Asmodeus stepped back, watching the death with cold, dispassionate eyes. How very similar deaths were, and also very different, both at once. Some cried, some pleaded, some struggled, some resigned themselves to their fate. But death came for all mortals. This one was a little different, he made no sound, not even one of surprise or hurt, and all Asmodeus heard was the harsh sound of his breathing as he slowly succumbed.

And then as the human thrashed about in the last throes of death, of pain, the body struggling to stay alive, the fold of the human’s cloak fell back from his head, revealing a long fall of crimson hair, and Asmodeus realized that he had made a grave mistake.

“Crawley!”

“Asmodeus...” Crowley gasped, clutching his chest as the blood ran through his fingers, stumbling forward.

“Crawley, why did you…!” Asmodeus caught Crowley in his arms but it was too late; Crowley’s eyes were already fixed in his head, and the body grew limp as the last of the air escaped the lungs.

Asmodeus felt something in his throat catch, the beginning of a snarl, perhaps, or something else. He clutched Crowley close to him for a long time in the dim light of the entry chamber, feeling the warmth slowly seeping from the still corpse. 

The corpse meant nothing; it was no more than a discarded shell, and he heaved a sigh, realizing that he now had to answer for the discorporation. There was nothing he could do but leave for Hell.

After all, there were consequences for failures.

Asmodeus glanced back at the corpse. He already felt regret for the loss of that lovely body, which he had known for so many eons now that it was as familiar to him as if it were an extension of himself. And now it was discarded, like so much rubbish left for the humans to clean up. 

With a hiss of frustration he gestured sharply, disappearing with a flicker of yellow flame.


	16. A Very Big Fish

Nineveh was nice this time of year. Early autumn meant that it was not too hot, and Aziraphale cheerfully made it down the ladder to the rendezvous point. It would be an easy job: a little travel, some minor blessings, a healing, and a happy ending all around for the humans. Though it would be even easier if he was allowed to do as he wanted to, which is immediately apply the healings and the blessings, which would dispense with much of the travels, but as they said in head office, humans had to do some toil and suffering first in order to earn the miracles in their lives and not expect it from Heaven just because they asked for it. And even then, asking for it or toiling and suffering for it was hardly enough; the dispensation of miracles always seemed quite arbitrary to Aziraphale, often going not to those who were modest and quietly needed help, but those who could be counted on to spread the ideologies and teachings of Heaven.

It was easy enough to find the young man, Tobias son of Tobit, and easy enough to convince the young man and his parents that he was a kinsman by name of Azariah and would make an excellent travel companion. The hard part of course, was that the young man was not an excellent travel companion, too naive, awkward, and set in his own ways to let the course of the traveling road take him on an adventure.

Between the preparation and the supplies and the asses and the fish that tried to eat Tobias’ foot in the river, Aziraphale was finding himself a little short on temper and long on wanting to lay down some petty miracles to make this trip go faster. 

“Do you think I’m going to lose my foot?” Tobias fretted, as Aziraphale washed the young man’s foot, examining the little pink marks made by the fish’s mouth in the fading evening light.

“Oh, I highly doubt it. Carp don’t have teeth. I think you’ll live,” Aziraphale said gently.

“Blessed be G-d!” Tobias sighed, leaning back against his outstretched hands, the little dog that followed him licking at his fingers. “Brother Azariah, I probably should have told you, but my parents said I should be careful telling anyone this. I know you’re a kinsman but...they said I should be careful anyway, no matter what. But I know I can trust you. You see, I’m my father’s only son and the only hope for my family’s survival. If I can’t get the money back for my father or if I can’t work...I don’t know what I’d do. So I can’t mess this up. I shouldn’t have put my foot in the river like that to wash it off, it’s not safe. I know I should have drawn water from the river first in a vessel, but it just looked so inviting and I thought, what’s the harm? And then I nearly lost my foot or my life. I really messed up, didn’t I?”

“It’s all right,” Aziraphale said gently. “You’re allowed to make mistakes. And besides, this isn’t necessarily a mistake. You caught us dinner, for one, though in a rather unorthodox way.”

“Thank you, Brother Azariah,” Tobias blushed faintly, looking embarrassed. “Still, I’m very sorry about-”

“No more apologies.” Aziraphale patted Tobias’ foot. “Forgive yourself as you would forgive others; you’re not better or worse than your friends. Wait until your feet dry off before you put your shoes back on, and we’ll go get supper started. Nothing’s finer than fire-roasting a carp fresh from the Tigris.”

“Ooh, I love roasted Tigris carp! Back home my mother makes it with all the condiments and...” Tobias’ expression changed. “I...I’ve never been this far from home before. Not without my parents.”

Aziraphale smiled at him reassuringly. “It was bound to happen some day. Think of it as an adventure.”

“But...won’t that change things? Change me?” Tobias wiggled and then cracked his toes. “I think I can already feel something in me change from being on my own, and from seeing new things.”

“It’s hardly been a full day away and we haven’t even gotten past the first night, child,” Aziraphale said, amused, but then he noticed the worry in Tobias’ expression. “Though you are right, travel does bring about change in people. But the change won’t be so bad, I promise; travel helps one grow into the person they were meant to be.”

“How?”

“By offering new perspectives, and new ways of looking at the world. New sights, new friends...old friends too, sometimes.” Aziraphale smiled to himself, not even a motion of his lips, thinking about the past.

An old memory surfaced, not so much a memory as a feeling, of moving through water, of song, and he wondered what it meant and what it was a memory of until it slipped away, forgotten again.

“Well, are your feet dry? We should get to preparing the fish for dinner. There’s something I want you to do with some of the fish’s inner organs, if you’re willing to listen to me.”

Tobias eagerly put on his shoes. “Sure thing, Brother Azariah. And you know, maybe you’re right. This is an adventure. But a good one, one blessed by G-d. For after all, were we not provided with a bountiful supper that we can share with others less fortunate and that is also pareve?”

Aziraphale beamed.

They weren’t the only ones camping along this stretch of the river, but they were the only ones who had caught a carp easily the size of a man, and so it turned into something of a feast; all the neighboring camps were invited over for supper and Aziraphale watched with fondness as the humans organized themselves, some making bread in the coals of their cook fires, others chopping fragrant onions and garlic and parsley to make condiments for the fish, many pouring out cups of beer, sharing food and drink.

Aziraphale glanced over at Tobias in the flickering light of the fire. He seemed to have dozed off where he stood, a slack hand lightly touching a stick that had been prodding the fire. At his feet, the little dog dozed, legs twitching in the midst of a dream.

A long day, Aziraphale thought with a smile, and he was about to say something to wake the boy, but then Tobias looked up and gave Aziraphale a brilliant smile with a strangely familiar expression that pierced him to the core.

“You know, angel, smaller fish make for better eating. The meat gets tough and dry the bigger they get and the fact that they need to be cooked longer doesn’t improve upon it. And carp are always muddy tasting, not as good as sea fish or really anything that doesn’t make its living in the mud. Like Nile perch. Always tastier than Nile catfish. And I’d say it’s better steamed with fresh ginger and scallions and salty jiang than roasted with chopped onions and garlic. I like the way they cook fish much better on the other side of the world.”

“...Crowley!” Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat. “Good lord, what are you doing here?”

“Long story. Where am I?” Tobias looked around with that look of sharp curiosity in his eyes that Crowley often had and Aziraphale felt something inside him loosen, as if a tight-wound knot had lost some of its tension.

“In a young man named Tobias. A day’s journey south of Nineveh. How did you do this?”

“Eh, you know. Possession. It’s a thing.”

“A thing.” Aziraphale said dryly. “Merely a thing?” 

Tobias, or rather, Crowley, shrugged. “You know, a thing. A demon thing.”

“How?”

“Well, they don’t have to be receptive. They just have to be, eh, uh...you know, alive. Preferably human. It helps that he’s asleep. Made it easy to just dip in. And I don’t know why I’m here or how I got here. I just didn’t want to be in Hell and well, here I am.”

“Did just you say ‘dip in’? You’re not...treating this as if you’re visiting someone’s house, are you? Crowley, this is a human being you’re in! You can’t just ‘dip in’ to them for a visit! That’s...”

“Yes, yes, demonic.”

“I was going to say ‘rude’. You should ask permission first.”

“I don’t mean to be rude. And I’m a demon, asking permission isn’t exactly my thing.”

Aziraphale sighed. “All right, fine. Good point. What are you doing here then?”

“Really, I don’t know what I’m here for. Just needed a ride, and lo and behold, a ride appeared.”

“But how are you doing this?” 

“Couldn’t tell you. Seems natural, honestly.” Tobias, no Crowley, held out his hands, turning them to and fro, examining the corporeal form that he was now in.

Aziraphale lowered his voice to the barest of whispers, absolutely scandalized. “Crowley, where’s your body?”

“Discorporated. Long story. What’s for supper?”


	17. The Stars

Fires banked, the camps along the Tigris fell quiet as people settled down for the night. But the night itself was not silent, broken by the sound of the swift current of the Tigris lapping the shore, the flutter of autumn leaves in the wind, the flitting of bats among the trees, and the occasional cry of night birds as they sang their duets of love.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said softly, keeping his voice down as he banked the fire and lay down beside Crowley, careful not to be too close.

“Hmmm?” Crowley looked at him through Tobias with bright eyes and a soft expression that Aziraphale felt down to the tips of his toes.

“The stars. They’re beautiful tonight.”

“They’re always beautiful.” Crowley gestured toward the sky as if he could touch the stars with the tips of his fingers. “Sometimes on breaks I’d wander off and sit on a good sized asteroid, preferably one going the wrong direction, lying down or leaning against the rock, just tumbling through space, watching all the stars streak by my eyes. Used to get hilariously dizzy. Of course, head office didn’t find it particularly hilarious.”

“I think I did that too! At least once. I remember the stars tumbling past my eyes...”

“And the soft dust that was stirred up when you’d lie down.”

“And the fine dust between your fingers, just floating all around in little specks…”

Crowley’s hand reached out to him, barely brushing against Aziraphale’s hand before drawing back and Aziraphale felt it like fire from heaven, like electricity zinging across his skin.

“Sorry. Forgot myself. Literally.” Crowley sighed. “Since I’m not myself and merely going along for the ride. It would be rude, taking free will away from a human being like that.”

“If that was the case you wouldn’t be possessing him,” Aziraphale said tartly, but then immediately regretted his words.

Crowley shrugged, and Aziraphale could hear the soft rustle of cloth moving as Tobias’ sleeping body shifted. “Didn’t mean to, really. A little possession, that’s all.”

“I don’t think any possession is good.”

“Just didn’t feel like listening to the arguing down in Hell. There was a lot of it after I was discorporated. Beelzebub will be shouting for days. Weeks. Years, maybe.”

“How...did it happen? If I may ask.”

“Oh you know...eh, er...um. An accident.”

“Oh bother, I’m so sorry. I hope it wasn’t too unpleasant. Seems like it would hurt quite a bit to be discorporated. I’ve never had it happen to myself but I have been at the trainings on what to do when one is discorporated. Well, what to do afterwards, where they teach you how to fill out the proper documentation. Oh, what about the documentation? How many tablets do you suppose it’ll take? Upstairs, it seems like it’s nearly enough to build a wall around Uruk. Well, a section of a wall.”

Crowley laughed, loud enough to wake the sleeping dog that curled up between them, which got up and looked around briefly to make sure that everything was all right before turning thrice and curling back up to sleep. “Documentation? That’s Asmo- that’s...that’s a problem for the Prince of Hell that I report to, not my problem. It’s his fault anyway.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice dropped to a startled whisper. “What happened?”

“Oh, just an accident. Erm, you know...things. Things happen in the course of diabolical business. Not a big deal, really.” There was a strange note of tension in Crowley’s voice, and Aziraphale realized that he was not about to be pressed on the matter. “So you said Heaven’s still using clay tablets? Really, after all this time? We’ve been on papyrus for ages. You should mention it to one of your superiors. Tell them your surveillance picked up that Hell is keeping records on papyrus. The jealousy would make them make the switch. I’m surprised they haven’t switched already.”

“Oh they know about it. I was Upstairs recently and overheard them discussing switching to papyrus. Michael argued that Hell had been using it for years and Heaven should upgrade, but Gabriel said he already knew that and that the tablets were more stable and easier to store. The things I hear when I’m early for a meeting. Well, overhear. I suppose even if we do go on the papyrus standard, implementation will take a century or more.” 

“At that rate, some human might figure out something better than even papyrus and head offices will be spending all their time migrating from one type of documentation to another.”

“You’d think it’d be a miraculous thing, data entry, but even Heaven can’t handwave that. There are cadres of angels just for documentation.”

“Ten million demons minus a handful have to have something to do with their time.”

“So very true. Even our jobs generate enough documentation to keep many of them busy for a long time.”

“How many angels do you think could dance on the tip of a stylus?” Crowley asked dryly, and Aziraphale laughed.

“Crowley!” Azirphale said, scandalized. 

Crowley found himself giggling.

“But wait, isn’t papyrus liable to go up in smoke?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Oh yes, that’s part of the draw, really. Just imagine it; you’re an ordinary demon at a desk job, carefully transcribing a large and lengthy description of an assignment on Earth with notes and annotations. It takes hours, maybe days to properly write it up to standard. Proud, you turn your work into the nearest Duke of Hell, who upon seeing a misplaced aleph or a wobbly ayin and obliterates the entire text between one heartbeat and the next. Oh well, time to start all over again, can’t be helped, this work can’t be done in a reasonable amount of time.”

“How...absolutely infernal,” Aziraphale gasped.

“Things get lost in the drafts. That’s usually good for me, until it’s not.”

“Really. How does Hell manage?”

Crowley shrugged. “Eh, seems to work. I’ve seen it myself. What about you, Heaven must have some protocols like that?”

“I don’t...know? I’m not Upstairs more than I have to be, and I’ve never really seen the work that goes on behind the scenes. They keep all that messiness out of the way, hidden from view. At most, I might hear the Archangels talking but...I don’t think it’s ever anything important. Trivial things, really, things that aren’t important at all. Important matters are done privately in the Assembly of Heaven.”

“Dark Council meetings are open to any observers. Of course, not a lot go because if there are any real secrets that come up at those meetings, you’re bound to be locked up or destroyed for hearing it.”

“Oh dear. Have you ever been?”

“Yeah, a couple times,” Crowley shrugged. 

“How did you manage not to be destroyed?” Aziraphale asked anxiously.

“Nah, it wasn’t like that. You can’t be destroyed if you’re on the other side of the gallery.”

“Other side? You mean...”

“Eh, no big deal, just standing in for As-, er, that is, for the boss. Casting lots on his behalf while he’s off doing something important.”

“Really. He trusts you with that?”

“Oh, he tells me beforehand what he wants me to say for him and what he wants me to do in his name. There are no surprises at these things; the agendas are set out months in advance. I don’t have any opinions on the matters. At least, I’m not supposed to have any expressed opinions.”

“I’m amazed that you were sent into something so important.”

“Usually the Duke of Hell that serves that particular Prince would fill in but. Well, Ligur was busy too, so I was sent to fill in.” 

“My dear boy, I didn’t know you were so close to the seat of power.” Aziraphale gave him an appraising look. “I’m rather impressed.”

Crowley waved it off. “Not so much highly ranked as highly favored. Or more likely, put in that position to irk someone powerful, probably another Prince of Hell. I don’t know about their wrangling, but I do know that Asmodeus treads a fine line.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale brightened up.

“Shouldn’t talk about it, internal affairs. Well, infernal ones too, if you really must know.” 

Aziraphale chuckled.

Crowley’s eyes grew distant, thoughtful.

“It’s a shame you can’t inhabit my body,” Aziraphale said suddenly. “I’d share but it is probably dangerous for both of us.”

“Pity,” Crowley said. “Would probably discorporate you or explode the both of us.”

“Probably.”

“A shame. I’d think it’d be quite nice to spend time with you, tucked into that nice soft body of yours. I bet it’s all lovely and warm,” Crowley said without thinking, and then realizing what had been said out loud, tried to duck away.

“Oh?” 

“Never you mind. Look, it’s almost daylight. Time for me to step aside. I’ll let the human have the waking hours. Wouldn’t want to trouble a good and filial son too much; I think he’d plotz if he knew he was being possessed by a demon.”

“Yes, rather. Please try to stay out of the way when he’s awake; I wouldn’t want him to think that his faith isn’t enough. They tend to believe that a lack of faith or some other character defect is what brings on possessions.”

“Frankly, it’s not a matter of faith; it’s just a matter of availability. Any body would do in a pinch.”

“Could you possess the dog?”

“Yes, but there’d rather be less options for conversation without the right physiology. Besides, two legs are already enough trouble to navigate when they’re my own, much less someone else’s. Four I would certainly spend tumbling about in an awkward circle.”

“A good point. Well, I had best pretend to be asleep; how close is Tobias to waking?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes?” Crowley shrugged. “Earlier if the birds get started and...oh there they go.”

With a yawn, Tobias turned over in his sleep, and Crowley’s voice was gone, as if Aziraphale had imagined it.

“’Lovely and warm’,” Aziraphale murmured to himself, as he closed his eyes, pulling the blanket over his shoulder. Sunlight slowly seeped in, the glow brightening so that he could see the light even with his eyes shut, and as the first birds of the morning began their cheerful songs to greet the rising sun, Aziraphale felt happier than he had in a very long time.


	18. An Arranged Marriage

When the weather was good, they walked. When it rained, they sometimes stayed the day indoors in sturdy mudbrick inns if the rain was too heavy, though often they found conveyance with wagoneers and caravans who were willing to let them hitch their asses alongside horses and camels, Bactrian and otherwise. Sometimes Aziraphale was lucky; Tobias would fall asleep on a swaying wagon and he’d have a few hours with Crowley. But most of the time, it was just Tobias.

As they made their way northeast away from Babylon, Aziraphale paused to turn back and look at the great walls towering in the distance, a human-made mountain with an unnaturally regular geometry, a dark splotch rising from the Tigris and Euphrates valley. 

It reminded him of another journey ages ago when the world was still relatively new, one not quite so long as the one he was currently on, but with a familiar travel companion whose company he found himself yearning for. And that was a problem, wasn’t it? To wish for that tall slender companion in black who watched him closely with a serpent’s eyes, when he really ought to be getting along and doing his work and being a credit unto Heaven itself, instead of letting his thoughts wander to a snake-hipped stride that cared not for correct gait or posture or even the limitations of gravity.

Aziraphale sighed, his eyes fixed on Babylon.

“Brother Azariah, are you married?”

“Huh? What?” Aziraphale looked up, remembering where he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

“I was wondering if you’re married.”

“Oh. Why is that?” Aziraphale demurred. “Let’s keep walking.”

“Sure.”

As the little dog danced merrily about their feet, they unhitched the reluctant asses from the thorny scrub and got back on the road, which was luckily still damp but not muddy, so that the dust which kicked up badly on dry days did not blind them or force them to breathe through cloths wound around their heads. Tobias said nothing for some time and as they walked, Aziraphale was relieved that he was in the clear.

But then after a long and considering quiet, the human spoke.

“Brother Azariah, before I left, my father gave me a long talk about marrying the right kind of person. Do you think that’s important to take into account before getting married?”

“I...don’t know. I suppose it would depend on what the conditions that he discussed were...I don’t know very much about all that, to be honest.”

“Were you married?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, unable to skirt the truth.

“Did someone give you a talk? How did you pick your bride? What was she like? Was she beautiful, Brother Azariah?”

“The way it worked for me was that it was arranged,” Aziraphale said carefully.

“Arranged? Who arranged it?”

“It was a long time ago.” Aziraphale smiled sadly to himself. “Before you were born. A bride was chosen for me, but it didn’t last very long.”

“No? I’m sorry to hear that. A lot of women die in childbirth,” Tobias said, with an earnest and serious expression. “I’ve heard people talk about that a lot.”

“It wasn’t that,” Aziraphale said. “But...she was not meant to live long. Nor was the union meant to last.”

“I don’t understand?”

“I don’t either,” Aziraphale admitted. “It was part of a Great...well, a bigger plan than I understand. I was married, we had a child, but. Well, business took me away from her before the child was born. After that, I don’t know what happened.”

“No?”

“No. It was forbidden to know.”

“But doesn’t that mean that your son, and the sons of your sons-”

“Tobias, I don’t know if the child was a son or not. But I don’t think that generation ever continued on to begat anyone else. They were strong children, but perhaps too strong for this world.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Brother Azariah.” Tobias’ brow furrowed.

“Well. It was a long time ago,” Aziraphale said. “And I was in a strange land filled with strangers.”

“Oh. Oh! No wonder father wanted me to marry the right kind of person, someone from our own people,” Tobias nodded sagely. “Foreign habits are strange and bad.”

“No, not always. Strange perhaps but...” Aziraphale sighed. “There is a reason for all those habits, and often it is just how humans adapted to their environment, to their circumstances.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“You haven’t had many travel opportunities,” Aziraphale smiled. “Now that you do, you’ll see why people do the things they do. The Egyptians wear linen kilts because of the heat and because it is too hot to work in coats. The Persians wear wool coats and long trousers because the hills and mountains are cold and besides, it’s too hard to ride a horse in a kilt. The Greeks sometimes wear nothing at all because they value hard exercise, and it is troublesome to wash garments.”

“Oh.”

“And there are more, so many more that it would be nearly impossible to list them all. The world is a big place, with many people.” Aziraphale said gently. “I spoke only of a tiny faction of all the people in the world. Wherever there are people, there are different customs. I suppose we are accustomed to our own and prefer them over others, but it doesn’t mean that the others have no value.”

“So the differences aren’t good or bad,” Tobias said, “they’re just...differences.”

“Yes. Exactly.” Aziraphale smiled beatifically. “See, you’re already learning.”


	19. Delusion

Days he spent traveling with Tobias. Nights he spent talking with Crowley, as the human slept. Once they were past Babylon, they continued on their long journey along the Royal Road, heading northeast to Ecbatana, keeping to the margins of the road when swift horsemen with vital messages to or from the king of kings came galloping by with hoofbeats like thunder along the dusty road. Starting from a few days travel from Babylon, they didn’t have to camp as much and were able to stay in comfortable inns and caravanserai. Not needing money, Aziraphale spent all the wages he had been given as a chaperone on meals and housing.

Tonight a steady light rain fell, the high humidity leaving the walls damp with condensation. Moonlight streamed in from the tall narrow window, illuminating Tobias even as Aziraphale was in shadow.

“Where do you think the king is now?” Aziraphale wondered, his hand resting lightly on the little dog that slept curled up on his soft belly.

“Susa or Persepolis or Babylon? Ecbatana’s more of a summer retreat. Saw him there in the summer. Well, not the actual king in person. Just, you know, his entourage and household and such. City gets pretty busy once he’s in town.”

“Is Ecbatana cold in the winter?”

“Dreadful cold.” Crowley spoke without hesitation. “Absolutely miserable. Wind comes slicing off the mountains like a knife and cuts right through you.”

“You sound like you know it from experience.”

“Yeah, well.” Crowley’s eyes grew cold. “I may have been there once before.”

“What was it like?”

Crowley shrugged. “Eh, you know. A city. People, markets, temples...the usual. Nothing great, nothing terrible.”

“Ah.” And Aziraphale wondered if that meant Asmodeus had a house there. “Good accommodations?”

“Only the best,” Crowley said flatly, and then Aziraphale knew it for certain.

“Ah.”

“Ah?” Crowley looked over.

Aziraphale’s mouth moved in a wry expression. “I suppose he has a house there. Your boss.”

Crowley couldn’t hide his surprise from Aziraphale, not for long, and it took him a moment before he could reply.

“You should pretend that you never considered that thought. Stay away, angel. He’s too dangerous. He could destroy you out of hand without a second thought.”

“Seems like that gives him rather too much credit, my dear.” Aziraphale felt the edge of malice sliding into his words.

“Promise me you’ll stay away. After all, I wouldn’t go back to him if I didn’t like it.”

Aziraphale huffed a sigh. “...my dear boy, you know that’s not really true. If you didn’t go back to him, you’d be hunted down as a traitor and destroyed. Isn’t that what they do to runaways? You’ve told me that before.”

“Yes, well,” Crowley muttered, looking away.

“Playing at free will is just what it is; play. You don’t have any, no more than I have. We were created to serve and we are bound to serve.”

Crowley said nothing.

“The least you could do is be honest with yourself. Or me.” Aziraphale said simply. “You needn’t indulge in self-delusion just to make me feel better.”

“Maybe that helps me live,” Crowley muttered. “Helps me feel better.”

“Excuse me?”

“Delusion. It’s easier to pretend. Instead of thinking too hard about the truth.” 

Silence, and all Aziraphale heard was the dripping of rain as it pattered softly on the eaves, giving life to the dry and dusty world beyond the walls.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries.”

Crowley waved it off. “It’s fine. Think I needed to hear that.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Crowley’s voice caught in his throat.

“No need to thank me, really. I-”

Crowley suddenly interrupted him. “You’re a good friend, Aziraphale.” 

But before Aziraphale could answer, Tobias shifted and yawned, opening his eyes, blinking. 

“What a strange dream,” Tobias said, his voice quavering. “I can’t remember it, but my eyes are all wet now.”


	20. A Mentor

“Excuse me,” Tobias said, frantically waving as the wagon passed them in the rain.

“I’m sure one will stop and let us on,” Aziraphale suggested, looking down the road pointedly, though it was a sure thing that he should not try to use too many miracles on the road now that he had a(nother) traveling companion, this time of the more demonic bent. He shifted the little dog in his arms, his hands holding onto the lead ropes of the asses. The dog managed to somehow stay miraculously dry. Aziraphale on the other hand was soaking wet.

“Do you think he heard me? Maybe we should switch.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea; we’ve already long since established that the asses won’t hold still for you. Though certainly I wouldn’t know why. Maybe you should raise your voice? Perhaps the drivers can’t hear you.” Aziraphale suggested, as the soft-spoken young man had not so much called to the wagon driver as murmured sternly.

“I’m not sure if I can...” And then Tobias blinked, a faint hint of an infernal flicker passing through his eyes that Aziraphale, who was looking down the road hopefully, did not notice. “You know, Brother Azariah? I think I will.”

“Do try your best,” Aziraphale said, with an air of infinite patience and sweetness that hid his unfettered impatience and sourness.

A wagon drawn by plodding camels came rumbling down the road, and instead of waving it down, Tobias darted out into the middle of the road before Aziraphale could stop him.

“Halt! You will give us a ride to the nearest caravanserai on the road to Ecbatana!” The human’s voice was deep and commanding, and the wagon came to a shuddering halt as the driver pulled hard on the reins.

“Well, that works?” Aziraphale blinked, surprised.

The cart beneath its waterproofed oiled felt cover was filled with bundles of woven woolen cloth that stank pleasantly of clean sheep. Aziraphale and Tobias settled down among soft sacks of clean carded wool, the little dog settling down at their feet. Before long, the heat of their bodies warmed the small confined space, helping them dry off, though perhaps aided a bit by the principle that Aziraphale’s clothes and Tobias’ clothes strove to keep them warm and comfortable, despite the inclement weather.

In the pleasant darkness of a rainy afternoon, Tobias dropped off to sleep, and Crowley sat up to look around.

“Well, that worked.”

“Hmm? What was that?” Aziraphale realized that he was getting used to hearing the crisp sound of Crowley’s voice emanating from the human and feeling guilty about that, tried to hang onto his general sense of decency and mild outrage. But after a day of slogging through rain and mud, he no longer had the will to keep it up for long and instead lazed back in the pleasing comfort of Crowley’s voice, his eyes half open.

“Encouragement.”

“Encouragement?”

“All young people could use some of it. Helps them...er, how’s it said...find their voice?”

“Find their...find their voice?!” Aziraphale sat up with a start, shocked. “Do you mean you-”

“Eh...” Crowley shrugged. “I didn’t do anything, really.”

“Oh no, not that-”

“Just a little encouragement, that’s all.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it-” Aziraphale said, offended.

“Really, it wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have done himself. He just needed a little push. So I...helped.”

“Helped?! Like a temptation? Into behaving badly?”

“Like a cup of strong, unmixed wine,” Crowley said. “Straight to the gizzard, loosening some of those inhibitions. And since when did standing up for one’s rights mean that one was behaving badly?”

“Since...always?” Aziraphale glared.

“Right,” Crowley said flatly.

“And besides,” Aziraphale said, realizing his mistake and changing the subject away from the Fall, “humans don’t have gizzards. As you should well know. After all, you don’t have one either. Though, I suppose you could make one for yourself if you really-”

“Yes, yes. Relax, angel. He’s fine. He’s just...finding his voice. Finding himself as an adult. And if he needs a little nudge from a mentor, say an older brother, does it matter who the brother is, infernal or divine? Don’t we all need that, sometimes?”

At that, Aziraphale had nothing to say.


	21. The Fall

They rode for about a league in the back of the bumpy wagon in silence. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had fallen asleep as well in the warm twilight beneath the waterproofed cover, but then suddenly the road seemed to smooth out and Crowley began to speak, though at first it seemed as if he were talking to himself.

“He was very kind to me from the first. When I saw how the other Princes treated their subordinates, I knew I was lucky,” Crowley said, breaking the silence. “When things went wrong or didn’t go as planned, he always protected me from people like Beelzebub, or Satan.”

“Satan...you mean Lucifer?” Aziraphale wondered.

“Lucifer’s his name, Satan’s his title. The Accuser. The Adversary. You know, like ‘First Prince of Hell’ or ‘Duke of Hell’ or ‘Seraphim’ or ‘Cherubim’ or whatever,” Crowley shrugged.

“Please, do go on. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Crowley waved it off with an eloquent gesture, but it took some time before he started speaking again. 

“He protected me. And I was grateful for that. I saw what happened to those subordinates that weren’t protected. Tortured. Beaten. Locked away for an eternity alone in the darkness, starved of light, starved of companionship. Destroyed, sometimes.”

“Dreadful,” Aziraphale could not help but whisper, and Crowley nodded.

“But now I know it wasn’t that he was protecting me, it was that he was protecting himself.” Crowley hugged himself for a moment, before letting go, remembering it was not his own body. “To the Princes, we subordinates are no more than extensions of their will. And were I to fail, it meant that by extension, he had failed.” Crowley folded his fingers together, looking at a stranger’s hands. “Since that was unacceptable, he did whatever it took to keep me from the appearance of failing.”

“Oh. Oh!” Aziraphale blinked. “That’s...”

“Clever?”

“I would have said dastardly.”

“It can be both, can’t it?”

“Both? Yes, both.”

Crowley lifted the felt flap of the wagon cover and looked out at the gray rainy streak of the world passing by at a slow crawl, droplets of rain falling on his face, before letting the cloth drop from his hands and wiping the water off with the long sleeve of his coat.

“But now that I’ve seen the world...now that I have seen the actions of human beings, I know that it wasn’t that he was kinder than the other Princes. He was trying to survive. We all were, in those days after the Fall.”

“It must have been hard.”

“It was. Loss, pain...hatred. There was no room for anything else for a long time. A rather unpleasant number of us were destroyed before someone realized that if we were ever going to win against Heaven, we’d need all the hands we could get.”

“That was true for us too,” Aziraphale said. “Though I don’t think they were destroyed so much as...lost?”

“Lost?”

“Lost. Disappeared. Gone. No one knows where they are. We’re quite certain they didn’t fall; they weren’t the falling type. They didn’t hang out with your lot. Sorry, didn’t mean it that way. But they were always loyal and ever obedient to Her Will. So it was not possible that they fell and were renamed. But all the same, there are missing angels all over the hierarchy and She won’t answer any questions about them. Not that we were of the mind to be asking anything after, you know. The Unpleasantness.” Aziraphale closed his mouth.

“Ah. The Unpleasantness? Is that what you’ve been calling it?” Crowley said tartly.

“Don’t make this harder than it is. It’s already hard when one of the most coveted positions was filled by...Sandalphon.”

“Hmph.”

“Indeed. Can you even imagine who made that staffing decision? An angel of smiting to replace an archangel of healing? Not my first choice to replace Raphael, but.” Aziraphale shrugged. “They don’t invite me to the planning meetings.”

“I suppose you’d do better.”

“I should certainly hope so! There are so many that are better suited for that position. Just because one is so close to the Metatron...” Aziraphale frowned. “Well, it’s just a surprise to me that a fellow Cherubim who directed choirs and managed communications now does quite a bit of the...you know, smiting. I suppose it’s all that experience as a choir director.”

“Or as a communications manager. I hear that job can make one quite testy.”

“Exactly! Frankly, if you ask me, Raphael was a balancing force in the Four, but once he went missing, the entire system was broken and even gentle Gabriel became hard and unpleasant and oh goodness, I shouldn’t be gossiping about internal affairs.”

“It’s the same for us.” Crowley looked away. “They weren’t all destroyed. Some of them are just...missing. Should be seven Princes of Hell and an equal number of Dukes. There are only four now. Asmodeus wasn’t even always the Second Prince of Hell; he was promoted.”

“It was the Fall,” Aziraphale said simply. “Something happened that broke the system.”

“Do you think it was a mistake?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No mistakes are made by the Almighty.”

“Then it’s-”

Aziraphale shrugged. The word was already in his mouth when Crowley pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shhh… Don’t say it. You know as well as I do what it means.”

Aziraphale nodded. 

“We can’t know Her will.”

“No.” Crowley reclined back on the springy sacks of wool. “But I wish that sometimes She’d drop us a hint.”


	22. The Promise

In Media, a day’s journey from Ecbatana, they stopped in a caravanserai; there were so many to and from Ecbatana that they never had to camp out anymore, staying in rooms with plain but pleasing appointments, with warm beds and hot meals every night. 

Once Tobias went to bed and Aziraphale put out the light, the angel waited patiently for the young man to fall asleep. 

“Brother Azariah, have you ever been to Ecbatana?”

“No, not in some time.”

“What will we do there? Do you have friends we can stay with there? Or do we have to stay in another inn? Should we stay with family to save money? I think we have family there...”

“Do we?” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, before remembering his role. “Oh, yes, of course, we do. I’m sure we have family in many places.”

“Which cousins do you think they are? How are we related, do you know? Are they also descendants of Asiel of the tribe of Naphtali? Do you think they were exiles in Nineveh too and moved? Or were they exiled to Ecbatana directly?” 

“Oh, it doesn’t matter much, does it now? Family is family, no matter who they are or how they’re chosen. Why don’t you get to sleep, young man? We have a long day of travel tomorrow.”

“Mmm,” Tobias yawned. “A long day tomorrow...”

After that last thought, Tobias mercifully fell asleep. As the young man’s quiet breathing relaxed, there was a lingering silence that made Aziraphale wonder if perhaps Crowley was gone.

But then, just as he was about to give up waiting and get up to go for a walk to pass the time, Crowley’s voice spoke, soft and slightly muffled by the blankets.

“Aziraphale. Promise me something.”

“Hmm? What’s that now?” Azirphale asked. He had thought Crowley had fallen asleep himself; it had been so quiet. 

“I need you to do something for me,” Crowley said and his voice sounded strange, strangely troubled.

“Yes? What is it?”

“When you’re in Ecbatana...in case. Just in case. Look, I don’t know if I can stay here much longer; I think something is going on in Hell. But in case I’m not there, look up this house. The house of Raguel, son of Eleazar. He’s a merchant with one child, a daughter of marrying age. Her name is Sarah. Get her married off, as soon as you can. It’s for her own good. If she’s married, he can’t, or rather, he won’t-”

“Married off? My dear boy, how am I supposed to do that? It’s not like I could marry her myself. Where am I supposed to find the right husband? This isn’t some kind of a fairy tale...”

Crowley made a noise of frustration. “Figure it out. But promise me you’ll do it.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s to save her life. You’re all about that, aren’t you? Saving people.”

“Yes, but. Why won’t you tell me what your interest is in this?”

Crowley fell quiet for a moment.

“Because...because you’re just going to have to trust me and… Oh what in Heaven do you people want? Not now, I’m in the middle of-” 

And between one breath and the next, Crowley was gone. Aziraphale could feel the resounding emptiness in the room once Crowley’s spirit departed.

He sighed.

“Raguel, son of Eleazar.” Aziraphale said the words thoughtfully, and glanced at Tobias who murmured and turned over in his sleep.


	23. The Servants

Aziraphale laid in bed and thought about Crowley’s words. First, he would have to find Raguel, son of Eleazar, if a human by that name even existed. Though he thought that to be fair, it was worth giving Crowley the benefit of the doubt; more than once in the past Crowley had given him some tips about a job or a person and those hints had always been right. It had just never been so specific or spoken with such urgency, which left Aziraphale troubled as to why Crowley took such strong interest in the affairs of a particular human family.

Of course, Aziraphael thought, once the man was found, it just was a simple matter of figuring out why the man’s daughter needed such strong protection, and then perhaps finding a proper bridegroom, given time.

Aziraphale huffed a sigh of frustration, and the noise woke up the little dog. It sat up from its spot on the floor and yawned, before trotting over first to Tobias’ bed, where the dog pawed at the bedding, and then over to Aziraphale’s bed, where Aziraphale picked up the pup.

“You just want a warm bed to sleep in, don’t you? Well, you’re always welcome here,” Aziraphale said, setting the dog down against his chest.

The little dog turned around thrice before settling down, though it watched him with curious eyes for what seemed to be a long time.

Aziraphale set his hand down on the dog, scratching behind its ears, and went back to his thoughts. A proper bridegroom. Well, that could be Tobias, couldn’t it? It was a neat solution to a possibly tricky problem; Tobias was about the right age for marriage, the young woman needed the protection that a marriage could offer, and besides that, Tobias was a good and decent young man with a sense of responsibility far beyond his years. Compatibility given age, culture, and background was likely, and it would do no harm to at least float the idea; if not, Aziraphale could go looking for a proper bridegroom somewhere else.

And it then followed that it wouldn’t matter if the young woman or the young man were truly related as the custom dictated. As far as Aziraphale was concerned, to a human being, perception was reality and perception could always be gently bent to one’s will. 

Aziraphale yawned, cozy under the covers, which disturbed the little dog and it stood up, its feet unpleasantly heavy against his chest.

“Oof,” Aziraphale said, wondering how this pup learned that trick that cats liked to do, putting all its weight on one diminutive paw. So he shifted to sit up.

Halfway to verticality, Aziraphale realized that there was something he could do while he was up; he could get to work.

That was probably the best thing about being a celestial being, not being bounded by human rules or limitations. First, he picked up the little dog off its unpleasant perch on his chest. He got out of bed, sloughing off the warm covers to feel the cold night air. Carefully, he placed the little dog in the nest of warm blankets, covering its small body with a fold of the bedding. 

“Stay here and be good. Keep an eye on Tobias,” Aziraphale scolded playfully. The little dog gave him a lazy look, and curling its tail over its nose, fell asleep immediately.

Aziraphale stretched, shaking off the warmth of the bed. Despite the chill he didn’t shiver; the temperature meant nothing to him. He recognized that humans and many living creatures would think of this as cold, and that for him it was a purely intellectual understanding of the temperature, recognizing its effects on others but not on himself as his corporeal form was not affected by cold nor heat. 

As he pulled on his coat, the little dog stirred but did not wake and Tobias stayed soundly asleep. He slipped out of the room without anyone noticing as no mortal living being could see him when he wanted to be discreet, and with a sigh of relief, as if loosening a cramped muscle, he stretched out his wings into the sky.

Ecbatana was not far away, and in the early hours before dawn, he did some basic snooping; it was easy to find the Jewish homes: those were the ones with the mezuzot in the doorposts, some prominently displayed, others subtly blended into the architecture of the house. A little interrogation here and there in these homes of humans dazed by sleep, and he was able to quickly find the house of Raguel, son of Eleazar.

Aziraphale alighted down at the right house. A light was on, and he strolled into the grand kitchen where he perched by the fire to listen to the servants work and gossip.

“Seven husbands, seven! Can you believe it!”

“Shameless, that the young mistress is such a hussy.”

“Don’t say that, she’s a good girl-”

“Shush! Close the door!”

“Oh don’t worry. No one will hear if we’re just talking. The house has thick walls and the oven walls are even thicker. Fine, close the door then if you’re so worried. No, I won’t do it, my hands are sticky with dough, you do it. Think about it, we have a right to complain. We’re the ones who have to clean up the blood and dress the corpses.”

“How’d they die?”

“Horribly! The last one had gaping wounds in his chest, this big. Went clean through him!”

“That big!”

“Clean through?!”

Muffled shrieks and giggles, and Aziraphale felt the polite smile on his lips tighten as he watched the servants go about their work.

“Shh, shh, get back to the bread. And keep stirring the porridge, don’t let it burn. If it gets too hot, pull it off the fire...no, not that long, put it back or else it’ll never cook through!”

“Wait, how did the last one die?”

“Two gaping wounds! The kind a spear makes. Weren’t you listening? Just because you’re new means you should be listening twice as hard.”

“Sorry, I’ll do better, honest. Was there a spear? Did she kill him with a spear? Stabbed him twice?”

“How could she have killed him with a spear? They don’t leave spears in the bridal chamber.”

“No one keeps a spear in their bedchamber. Maybe a dagger, but not a spear-”

“Maybe it was a dagger and not a spear?”

“There were no weapons. No one knows how he was run through.”

“Who else could have killed so many grooms? They don’t fall dead on their own.”

“Unless she killed him?”

“Oh that’s stupid. The young mistress couldn’t swat a fly much less a full-grown man. I’m telling you that she’s cursed, absolutely cursed. Possessed by a demon or an evil spirit, I’m sure.”

“Too bad. Did I ever tell you that in the last house I worked at, you know, the very rich man’s house whose name I really ought not to mention though I can tell you he was very well-connected...in a princely manner…”

Aziraphale stifled a yawn, glancing out the window to see if he could see the position of the moon.

“Always with the princes...”

“Right? As if you need to keep reminding us.”

“Listen, that just means it’s reliable. I heard a story from another servant of a very important noble whose child had been beset by demons and was sickly. They brought in a, what is it called again, that man with the veil that tends the sacred fire-”

“A magi.”

“A magi who cleansed the child and after that no demon or evil spirit would dare to bother the poor little thing. So why doesn’t someone get a magi or a rabbi or-”

Aziraphale straightened his clothes and stood up from where he sat by the hearth. He began heading for the door, strolling lazily past the humans who no longer put up the facade of working but stood chatting by the ovens as the bread baked.

“The master won’t hear of it.”

“Laila tried to do it in secret and got fired. That’s why you have a job.”

“Even after seven men died?”

“Something’s wrong with him too. Maybe it’s a demon-”

“Or maybe what’s wrong with him is the same thing that’s wrong with the young mistress? Children inherit it, you know, all those characteristics of their parents. Good or bad, sometimes both good and bad. Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t agree-”

“Did you see him?”

“Who, the master? Of course not, he’s asleep.”

“No the groom, the dead one. The seventh groom. Did you see him before they buried him?”

Aziraphale paused at the door.

“Oh yes. A strange one.”

“I thought he was very princely.”

“You mean arrogant.”

“Well, he was nice to me-”

“Ooh, princely? What did he look like?”

“Tall and thin, with long red hair the color of fire.”

Aziraphale gasped, his hand pressed to his mouth, but the humans did not hear him.

“A demonic look for a demonic bridegroom.”

“Oh, don’t say that, I think he just had a foreigner for a father. That’s weird but there’s no law that forbids that...”


	24. Sarah

He had heard enough. Aziraphale walked out into the courtyard, the tips of his fingers touching wings that were folded alongside his body. Once outside, he stretched out his wings and ran his hands through hair damp from the frost of the upper atmosphere that had melted in the warmth of the kitchen, and the touch of his fingers left his short-cropped hair instantly dry. It didn’t mean much; condensation would build up and it would freeze again once he was high enough in the sky, but for now it gave him some sense of order, of decency when it didn’t seem that the world had any.

Discorporated. A strange one, tall and thin. Gaping wounds, as if made by a spear.

“Or a serpent’s fangs,” Aziraphale said to himself. So this was the secret that Crowley had been keeping from him, this was why Crowley had been called away from Ephesus so many seasons ago. A young woman, dead bridegrooms, a discorporation…but why was Crowley the bridegroom? Had he been fighting with Asmodeus over the young woman? But Crowley wanted her married off, for protection, as he had said.

And then with a start, Aziraphale remembered Crowley’s messages, the unintentional ones that no one was meant to have heard, and he thought about how desperate the fallen angel must have been to stop these murders, that Crowley had resorted to letting his master destroy his mortal form.

Aziraphale felt a shiver move over his skin even though he was never cold.

But that was in the past, and there was nothing he could do to change that. However, there were things that he could do now, that were within the realm of his control, and Aziraphale considered the possibilities, his mind moving over many variables and probabilities, mapping out all the factors that would help him decide how to move forward. 

He stepped forward, one foot on a stone bench in the garden, his body tensed into the motion of flight, but in the moment before he launched himself into the air, he heard a choked sob.

Aziraphale paused, and curious, strained his ears to hear it again, the sound of a whimpering voice.

He couldn’t leave. Not yet.

Pale moonlight from a high narrow window clung like white frost to her shoulder, and when she turned it was restlessly, as if in the throes of a nightmare. Her eyes were screwed shut as if against a blow that had not landed, and her body twisted, hands gripping the blankets with white-knuckled intensity. Her sobs came in harsh, fast breaths, and Aziraphale felt his heart twinge with sympathy.

The angel sat down on the edge of the bed and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, an outstretched white wing shielding her from the world, and immediately her breathing calmed and she relaxed.

“Tell me about your nightmares, child,” Aziraphale said with a soft, gentle voice. “What do you see?”

“The stranger with my husband’s face,” she said, her closed eyes creasing as she spoke.

“What happens next?” Aziraphale asked, afraid to know the answer.

“He takes me in his arms. I try to pull away but my body refuses to move. His eyes tell me what he wants and I cannot refuse him...he spends the night with me, as long as he likes and by morning…when I wake up the blood on the sheets is gone and it is impossible but I know that there should have been but-”

“Tell me how many times it happened.”

“Six times with six grooms. The last time...I was spared. But what if he comes back? I don’t want him to come back again. He hurts me...he does strange things, things I cannot even explain. Sometimes he is a man, sometimes he is a serpent, sometimes he is like wildfire, sometimes he is something else, a shadow, a shade, a ghost, a beast, a nightmare...”

“Shh. He won’t hurt you again, I swear.” Aziraphale murmured, stroking her hair so that the furrowed brow smoothed, the tight muscles untensed. Her mouth opened briefly, but then closed, and he wondered; was there something she wanted to say?

“If you want to say something or ask something of me, you may say it.”

“Will...” Her voice caught in her throat. 

“Yes?”

“Will you protect me?”

“For ever and all time,” Aziraphale promised. “But tell me one more thing, my child, before you dream of better things, of peace and tranquility.”

“Anything.” Her voice was no more than an exhalation.

“Tell me. What is his name?”

“Asmodeus. A Prince of Hell.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale pressed a kiss to her forehead, the blessing that he imparted suffusing her whole self. “I understand now what I have to do.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you. But there are limits, even to an angel’s abilities,” Aziraphale said. “I wish I could do more, my child, but I can’t take your pain from you nor can I take your memories. Know that in time the pain will lessen until it is just a memory of pain, and the memories will fade until they cause less pain.”

Sarah murmured, a sound of understanding, and as she fell back into a deeper, restful sleep, her breathing evened out and she dreamt no more of the demon lord.


	25. The Father

“What a stunning and wonderful coincidence,” Aziraphale said, “that here we are, all together, kinsmen in the same house.”

“We are pleased to have you in our home,” Raguel said, and Aziraphale smiled, his mouth in a tense curve. As the angel looked into the human’s eyes, he saw the infernal tinge of a demonic compulsion that lay behind the human’s every action. It whispered with the voice of screeching bats in the human’s ear: find a suitor for his daughter, marry her off as soon as possible, take any comer and any offer.

Aziraphale nearly reached out to bless the man and free him of the demonic enthrallment, but then realized that perhaps it would be to his advantage to leave the compulsion as is. It went against every principle in his angelic being, but he held back, even as his hands itched to undo the demon’s work. 

“S-so very pleased to be here, in the comfort of one’s own tribe. Family.” Aziraphale beamed, a tense and polite expression. “Let me introduce you to our young kinsman Tobias, who is of close relation to your family and of your father’s lineage.”

Or at least he is now, Aziraphale thought.

“Tobias, a pleasure.”

“Of course, you remember that Tobias is from the Nineveh branch of the family,” Aziraphale said.

“Of course,” Raguel said. “And we are the Ecbatana branch, though severely trimmed.”

“What happened?” Tobias asked, as if he didn’t already know, though it was evident in his expression of feigned curiosity that he knew.

“Oh, that’s neither here nor there,” Aziraphale said briskly. “Did you know that this is young Tobias’ first big trip abroad? He’s finally come of age.”

“Come of age? Does that mean you’re of marrying age, Brother Tobias?”

Tobias nodded. “Well, yes, according to my father, but-”

“Excellent! We have a daughter who’s of marrying age too!” Raguel sat up.

“Wouldn’t it be lovely if these two young people could make a life together for themselves in marriage?” Aziraphale said brightly.

“Actually...” Tobias suddenly spoke up.

“Actually? What do you mean, actually?” Aziraphale could feel the crack in his facade of friendly service to humanity growing.

“Brother Azariah, may I have a word? In private?” Tobias whispered, and Aziraphale threw up his hands, flabbergasted.

“Why?”

“It’s about the demon.” Tobias’ voice was low in his ear, and Aziraphale quickly glanced at Raguel to see if he had heard or noticed. Thankfully, the human had not.

“Yes of course, my dear boy.” Aziraphale said through his teeth. “Mind if I step outside into your garden, Raguel? I find that I am feeling a bit faint from all this traveling and could use a little fresh air. Oh yes, a cup of wine would be most refreshing and reviving...Tobias, be a good lad and accompany me? Oh, no thank you, Raguel. Tobias will be enough, he has been of good help and service to me throughout this journey, we will be back shortly.”


	26. The Voice in the Garden

“There’s something wrong with the man. I think it’s a demon,” Tobias said calmly. Aziraphale looked around at the winter-bare garden, large and lushly planted, the walled paradise of a rich man’s house. As they strolled down stone-paved paths, passing under a great evergreen oak and past a resinous, scrubby mastic tree, the little dog that had been following at their heels disappeared into the trimmed and manicured bushes.

“How...would such an innocent and unworldly young man as yourself know anything about demons?” Aziraphale’s smile was tense.

“I could see it in his eyes. It was like...an infernal tint. It wasn’t like a color or anything but...I can’t explain it, it wasn’t a real color, you know? Just...an impression. But I won’t be marrying anyone whose entire family is beset by demons.”

“Actually,” Aziraphale said tartly. “Since they’re our kinsmen, this would be our family as well.”

“I meant their specific line of the family.”

“And I hope that you will understand me when I say that anyone could pick up a case of demons. Anyone.” Aziraphale’s mouth tensed, though he managed to keep the whole truth from slipping out. “It’s apparently more common than you think and has little to do with moral fiber or character. So I would not judge these people for accidentally falling into harm’s way. We don’t know the circumstances-”

“Excuse me,” a sweet and light voice called out, and Aziraphale looked around until he realized that the voice had come from behind a garden trellis. Winter had left the vines bare and denuded of leaves, but the twisting tendrils concealed the speaker behind them, almost completely obscuring the human from view, showing nothing but a shadow. 

“Is this your dog?”

“Oh, goodness. My apologies, young lady, I did not know you were there.” And he nudged Tobias, who apologized as well. “Yes, it is our dog; rather, this dog has been a good travel companion who belongs to no one but itself. The dog goes where it will, and so far it has gone with us.”

“A good friend,” the voice said thoughtfully. “And a loyal one too.”

“So as not to intrude or compromise your privacy, we will leave right away,” Aziraphale said briskly. “Tobias, you and I will say nothing of this to anyone; no one’s reputation should be sullied by merely sitting in a garden alone.”

“Please honored guests, stay, but stay where you are on the other side of the wall. I couldn’t help but overhear that you were speaking of the family. Perhaps you would like to hear more?” 

“Oh no my dear child, we shouldn’t be gossiping about-”

“Yes, please!” 

Aziraphale gave Tobias a pointed look.

“It is a deep and dark tale, one that might trouble your sleep. Would you still want to hear it?”

“I’m not afraid,” Tobias said boldly. “Not of the truth.”

“I have it on good authority. The truth, that is,” the voice said. And then it went silent for a brief moment before speaking again.

“In this...in this very house lives a young woman named Sarah. She grew up in the protective shade of this garden. There, do you see? The pomegranate tree that she planted from seed as a child in play is now a mature tree whose fruits ripen in the autumn. But then as the tree began to fruit, and the fruit began to ripen, so did winter come, with biting frost and driving wind. A husband appeared, and then another, but their eyes were all the same behind their different faces; the eyes of a demon.”

“See, I told you,” Tobias said, and Aziraphale gave the human a stern look that shut his mouth.

“When she was small, she had older brothers, but as she grew up, they died one by one. She is the last remaining child and her father is wealthy. He is the kind of wealthy man who even giving up half his wealth and properties to a husband for her to continue the family would still be wealthier than even an ordinary rich man in Ecbatana. And we are a very prosperous city, here where the trade routes meet.

“But that is not important. Let us speak again of Sarah, a girl already accustomed to death. Death has been a close companion all her life, closer than any friend, from childhood to womanhood. If you were to marry this poor girl named Sarah, you could not avoid that childhood friend who waits inside the gates of this house. Stranger, marriage would mean death. But if she were to stay unmarried, it would also mean death. The death of her family, who has no other heir. The death of Sarah, who has no hope but to await the beast that comes unbidden to every wedding. And...”

“And?” Tobias whispered, shaken.

“And there is a darker story that any potential husband should know. That the woman, the young mistress is unclean, that mikveh does nothing to take off the fact that she is no longer pure. Her body is tainted and condemned, and there is nothing that can be done to take off the vile corruption.”

“What do you mean, my dear child?” At that moment a cold wind swept through the garden, rattling the bare branches, and Aziraphale wondered if a storm was approaching, coming down the mountain.

“I am certain that...” The voice lost some of its surety, a quaver arising in it. “It is most certainly the case that this young woman you seek to marry is no longer a virgin, and has been defiled multiple times by a demon.”

“Oh...” Tobias flinched back, repulsed. “Then what’s the point?”

“E-excuse me?” Aziraphale found his voice.

“You heard me, what’s the point of marrying a woman who is no longer a virgin? That is her greatest treasure, her virginity. And she just...gave it away to some...some rogue of a demon instead of her lawful husband?”

The voice fell silent but then spoke.

“You are correct, young stranger. But worse than that, a demon’s touch corrupts everything, condemning it to impurity.”

Before Tobias could speak again, Aziraphale set a firm hand on the young man’s shoulder, giving him a stern look.

“My dear child, those that are monsters, both human and not, would not wait to be given anything. Monsters take without asking, and do not wait for love freely given. Often by guile or by force. Do you understand?”

Tobias nodded slowly.

“As for the rest…heed my words, my children, for both of you are wrong.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Whatever a monster has done, human or demon, beast or brethren, there is no way that the breath of God that animates the dust that we are created from can be tainted, not by any demonic means, not even through carnal knowledge...” And then suddenly Aziraphale briefly lost his train of thought as he realized that for so many years, he had thought he could somehow redeem Crowley through physical means. That was a hoax, a lie, a falsehood spat out by a Prince of Hell that he had fallen for like a fool. He took a deep breath, filing away those thoughts for later rumination; there was too much at stake here for him to be thinking about his own problems.

“Really, Brother Azariah? But a bruised fruit rots, doesn’t it? And corrupts the other fruit in the basket?” Tobias asked.

“Are we fruit, my dear child?” Aziraphale asked.

“Um, no?”

“No we are not. Unlike fruit, humans heal. Even from the most grievous injuries, as long as those injuries aren’t so serious that they kill us. The scar remains, the limb is lost, but the person is no less of a person and no worse off in essence than someone who has not been hurt. After all, even a blind man is still a man; he has not lost what makes him decent or good or human.”

“Oh…oh!” Tobias nodded in understanding.

“But wounds can putrefy, can’t they?” The voice from behind the vines asked.

“Without a healer or treatment, yes. But putrefaction doesn’t mean corruption or taint. My child, even the worst and most disgusting putrefied wound is merely a wound. A wound does not make a person better or worse; it is just an injury, something that happened to the person, not something that defines their very being. Perhaps only a skilled physician could heal it, but often it would heal on its own given time.”

“What if it doesn’t heal?” The voice asked.

“Then we find a different physician. Or a different medicine. Or a better bandage. Or wait with patience while we try our best to heal and hope that time will aid in the process. There are many options,” Aziraphale looked toward the hidden speaker. “Appealing to a higher authority is an option too, though I would try the physician and the medicine as well.” 

“Are you sure, Brother Azariah?”

“Really. I am certain of this as I am certain of the sun rising tomorrow in the sky. A demon’s touch cannot corrupt or taint a human. It can’t even corrupt an angel.”

The shadow of the figure on the other side of the vines shifted, and Aziraphale could hear the soft rustle of long skirts.

“Brother Azariah is very well-educated and well-traveled.”

“Thank you for vouching for me, Tobias, but that is not necessary. Let us speak now about what is truly important. What we have learned is that this poor child named Sarah has been through much suffering and tragedy in her life. But it doesn’t have to stay this way. I understand your misgivings, Tobias. But we are of the same family, are we not? We should do the best in our ability to save our kin – to save anyone – and I am certain that marriage will save her from whatever has bedeviled her. It’s for her own good. If she’s married, the demon can’t come after her anymore. It’s to save her life.”

Tobias’ expression changed, and it seemed that something in his words resonated with the young man, and his face showed the brief struggle.

“If it’s to save her life...I’ll do it. Even if-” Tobias took a deep breath. “I’ll do anything to save her life.”

Aziraphale turned to see if the figure behind the vines was still there, but the shadow was gone. Somewhere beyond the vines he heard the soft tread of felt shoes upon the stone-paved ground, and the quick click of claws from the trotting steps of a little dog.


	27. By Doing so One Shall Live

“I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing, Brother Azariah.” Tobias sighed, once they were alone again as Raguel left to command his servants to prepare the wedding feast, to slaughter the ram and to make the bread, to bring out the good wine from the storehouse.

“I think there is not much more you can do now that the contract is signed. Other than do your best, of course, and be a good husband to Sarah.” Aziraphale rubbed his pleasantly tingling hands together, pleased to have removed the demonic compulsion from Raguel. 

“Maybe I’m the medicine that she needs to heal? Or maybe somehow I’ve brought the medicine she needs to heal? And who knows, perhaps she’s wrong about the demon. They have a tendency to trick people, don’t they?”

“They do,” Aziraphale agreed, his mouth in a strange twist as he thought of how he had been fooled by the same demon.

“I wish I could tell her something.”

“What is it, my boy?”

“That now that we’re getting married...that we don’t have to rush into anything right away.” Tobias said shyly. “That the fathering sons business can wait. We should be friends first. That’s most important.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale looked up.

“Yes. I can’t just walk into the bedchamber and demand things from a stranger, even if she is my wife. We should get to know each other. I want to know what she’s like. I want us to be friends. You’ve said good things about her, but I haven’t met her yet. And that girl in the garden seemed to know her, but it’s not the same as the actual person. And what if the demon comes again? I saw the servants out in the garden; they’re digging a big hole...a grave.”

“Perhaps it could be just a hole?”

“At least it’s in a nice place under a shady tree, but...” Tobias frowned. “I hope I’m doing the right thing. Is it right to put myself at risk if my death means destroying my family in order to save a stranger? After all, am I not commanded to honor my father and my mother?”

“It’s sometimes hard to know if we’re doing the right thing,” Aziraphale said, meeting Tobias’ eyes. “Believe me, often it is impossible to know. But that you risk your own life, putting yourself in danger to save a life...remember that ’by doing so one shall live’. Besides, I think you will find that there are greater powers at play looking out for you.”

“Do you think so? Really?”

“Really. After all, think of all the good coincidences that have been at play since we met in Nineveh; how excellent that your travels have all been with a kinsman who you can trust. It must be the doing of a higher power that everything is going so well. Now we will put our trust in that higher authority and pray for the best possible outcome. But know that you will be protected.”

“You’re right, Brother Azariah. I feel a lot better now.”

“Now Tobias, remember those fish organs I bade you to keep? Let me see them. Good, you’ve kept them safe and in excellent condition all this time in that little bag. Here’s what you’ll do with them when time comes, making sure to reserve this organ separately...”


	28. What Is That Coming up from the Wilderness...

From where she stood, she could only see the groom from behind. It was impossible to tell if he was short or tall, and from the heavily embroidered coat he wore, it was also impossible to tell if he was thin or stout. But Sarah knew that the marriage contract was signed, and there was no getting away from it; this was her new husband. She clutched the little dog in her arms close as her father came to take her to this stranger’s side. With a sigh, she reluctantly set the little dog down at her father’s command.

When the bride was led in, Tobias’ breath caught in his throat. For a moment he looked around in panic, wondering when the demon would appear. But then he saw her and for a brief moment stopped worrying about the demon. She was a tall and slim girl, her face pale and grave beneath the gleaming crown that held her long trailing veil in place. At her side the little dog trotted, and now that it was clean of the dust from the road, it was not so much clay-colored but the color of fresh milk, with dark patches beneath its upturned ears. She turned and her eyes met his, and in his heart it was as though he could hear the words, “What is that coming up from the wilderness, like a column of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense...”

He seemed very young and very serious, with an open and pleasant expression despite chubby cheeks that made him look very boyish as though he had hardly reached the age of mitzvot. Not handsome nor ugly, but with an honest and ordinary plainness that she found oddly endearing. Freckles speckled his sun-warmed skin, and his dark hair sprang in a bouncing curl above his brow. It was well within his rights to stay seated, but he stood as soon as Sarah came to his side, and she could see that he was not as tall as she was, almost a head shorter than her. She sat down beside him on the supper couch of honor, the one with the silver-plated legs, and looked at him again, scanning his face for signs of malice, of avarice or of cruelty.

Her eyes were a warm golden brown beneath her long black tresses, and Tobias could not help but smile; her hair reminded him of the motion of the deep-flowing current through the gleaming ribbon of the Tigris on a moonlit night, crowned with a silver moon. But when she noticed, she averted her eyes out of modesty, and he felt his heart quicken. Obviously this was not the girl that gossip said had ended the lives of her seven previous husbands. This was an innocent, one who could never be a murderess. He offered her his hand and she hesitated, and when she did, he noticed the faint lines of pain around her mouth, the hollowed cheeks, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, and wondered; how could a girl from a family so wealthy and prominent suffer so?


	29. Sarah and Tobias

Before she could speak, the little dog hopped into her lap, licking at her hand so that Tobias smiled, drawing his hand back.

“All this time traveling with that dog and it never sat in my lap at dinner.”

“But did ever you invite her to dinner?” Sarah asked.

“...oh no, you’re right, I never thought to...” And Tobias paused for a moment, realization coming over his face as he recognized her voice. “You’re the girl from the garden!” 

“Not so loud,” Sarah’s mouth moved into what could have possibly been the beginnings of a smile, but the expression was ephemeral, disappearing as quickly as it came, as if she had no practice at humor or happiness.

Tobias’ voice dropped to a whisper. “Then it was you all along.” 

“So?” Sarah’s manner was nonchalant and she kept her eyes modestly downcast, but her tone challenged him. “Will you berate me for my boldness? That as an unwed woman, I would dare speak to a stranger – no, two strangers – alone, and without an appropriate chaperone?”

“No. Never.” Tobias said very seriously. “First of all, we’re not strangers but members of the same clan, and second of all...I’ve always. Um. Honestly, I always dreamed of a wife that was as wise as Deborah and as brave as Esther.” 

“I am afraid I am more like Job,” Sarah said calmly, as though she had not heard his kind words. “Though not as good nor pious. His faith remained unshaken. Mostly. I’m afraid I’m not certain if I can say the same for myself.”

“Oh...that’s uh. Um. I don’t… Oh no! I’m so sorry, I realized that I didn’t introduce myself. Pleased to meet you. I’m Tobias.”

“Yes, I know. And you already know that I’m Sarah.”

“Yes, of course. Your father told me. Still, we should be properly introduced. As friends should be,” Tobias smiled shyly. “Well, future friends.”

“We don’t know each other well enough yet. Or at all, really.” Sarah moved to recline for supper and he did too, though Tobias noticed that she looked away as a servant carefully brought out a golden fluted bowl, setting it on the table before the couple. Another servant who had been standing by waiting stepped forward to fill it with golden wine. What few guests there were at the wedding feast murmured in admiration, but Sarah seemed to hardly notice the beauty.

“This is wonderful. It’s solid gold, isn’t it?” 

“It’s a prized possession of my father’s. He only brings it out during special occasions,” Sarah said without looking at the vessel.

Tobias touched the inscription that ran beneath the rim. “Artaxerxes...in Persian, Elamite, and Babylonian. Which Artaxerxes was it? The son of Xerxes or the son of Darius? Did your father receive this from the Great King?”

“Yes, I can read the inscription too.”

“Which language?”

“All of them. Hebrew as well, of course. I help my father with the accounting and correspondence. We trade far into the east for spices and silk.”

“I didn’t know your father dealt with the Great King.” 

“It’s no matter, anyone who does as much trade in valuable imports as we do in Ecbatana tends to have patrons from the royal court. Speaking of accounting, I haven’t seen the terms of the marriage contract yet. Please tell me about it. Father has been very...strange regarding the contract. Perhaps too generous, at least in past contracts.”

“Oh. Uh, that. Um.” Embarrassed, Tobias touched the heavy golden vessel with the tips of his fingers, and drew his hand back remembering that they would be expected to drink from it together. “Well, the usual terms apply?”

“Oh? What do you mean by that?”

“Nominal mohar to your father, as customary, and the larger portion as a gift to you, part in cash, part in goods. There’s a list. I can’t remember everything, but I promise the cloth is dyed and embroidered on both sides. Raguel wanted to give me half of everything he owns, but I think those things belong to you. The other half of the property that is his will go to our children upon his death. If there are any.”

“Generous,” Sarah said, skeptical.

“No, really.” Tobias said earnestly. “Especially since you’ve been doing the accounting and correspondence. I don’t know how your family business works. It sounds complicated and involved, so I think it’d be best if it were in your hands.”

“Really?”

“Really.” 

“And you don’t want anything?”

Tobias took a deep breath. “It’s in the contract that you have the right to seek divorce, if it doesn’t work out. You wouldn’t have to get my permission. So if you don’t like me or don’t want me around, I’ll go back to my father’s house in Nineveh and we can forget this whole thing.”

“You really don’t want anything.” Incredulous, Sarah stared at him without reservation.

“I can’t in good conscience take your family property and leave you with nothing in case we don’t get along. Do you mind if I say something that might be um, kind of...direct?”

“Speak. You are my husband, after all,” Sarah said dryly.

“Um…” Tobias turned red to the tips of his ears. “I want your health and your happiness. And that you live a good and joyful life from now on. And besides! You don’t have to worry about me. Really! If it comes to that, I’ll be fine. I’ll always have a place in my father’s house, and I know I’ll receive a portion from my father. Oh, and back home in Nineveh we never lived so wealthy. Our house isn’t even as big as the one storey of this house and this house has so many levels. He’s not as wealthy as your father and my father is...um, well, he was well-placed before he went blind, but you know, I don’t think I have a head for running a foreign trading business this big and this complicated so it’s better if you-”

“You could learn,” Sarah said, her mouth moving into something that almost seemed like a smile as she drew the little dog closer to her on the supper couch.

“I could try?”

“Shall we drink to that?” Sarah said, gesturing to the wine. “Let’s try together, all right?”

“Yes, let’s try.” And each holding one side of the heavy golden bowl with great care, they both drank deeply together.


	30. The Substitute Groom

Toward the end of the wedding banquet, as the servants walked through the reclining guests and continued to serve wine to the sparse crowd of morbidly curious and unhappily drunk humans, Aziraphale gestured to Tobias.

“My dear child, I’m terribly sorry to put you out. I know it’s your wedding night, but could you walk me to my room please? I must admit I’m feeling a bit faint from the heat or perhaps it was the wine...”

“Yes, of course, Brother Azariah. Please excuse us everyone, I must see to my kinsman,” Tobias said, hurrying to Aziraphale’s side with a worried murmur. As they walked out of the dining hall to the guest quarters, Aziraphale leaned on Tobias’ arm, playing it up a bit.

Once they were alone, Tobias helped Aziraphale over to the bed, and the angel sat down.

“Are you all right, Brother Azariah?”

“I would be even better if you sat with me for a moment,” Aziraphale said.

“Of course,” Tobias smiled as he sat down. With a snap of his fingers, Aziraphale gently eased the young human into a deep sleep. Standing up, he folded the bed down and tucked Tobias in, wrapped snugly in soft blankets in a room heated by the back side of the great kitchen hearth. 

“Dream of a happy wedding night, dear child,” Aziraphale said indulgently.

The fish organs were still in a bag in his hand; Tobias must have held onto them almost all night, and Aziraphale had to prise them gently from the human’s grip. He felt the blessing that he had put on the dried heart and liver, which he stuck into a pocket for safekeeping. It wasn’t quite frankincense or myrrh, but it would have to do as makeshift incense; the blessed stink would drive out anyone, demon or not.

Aziraphale slipped off his ring, feeling the weight of the gold in his hand, admiring the way it gleamed. Was it not quite as gold as it had always been? He shrugged it off; it was probably just a trick of the light. He strung it on a cord that he tied around his neck, remembering the last time he had done this, to try to disguise himself from a Prince of Hell. Not that he knew he was intentionally trying to disguise himself from a Prince of Hell, nor did it work for very long. But that time he didn’t know Asmodeus would be there; this time he was ready. He took a deep breath, and with a gesture with upraised hands, disguised himself as Tobias.

He stepped out into the hallway and flagged down a passing servant.

“Gracious, Brother Azariah must have been quite tired from his travels; he’s in bed already and he is not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, young master,” the servant replied.

“If you don’t mind, could you please bring me a cup of wine? I find that I am feeling rather parched.”

“Of course, young master.”

The wine came quickly, and Aziraphale brought the golden lion-headed rhyton up to his lips for a taste. A good vintage, and a fine grape from a fine vineyard. They drank it neat in Persia, and to Aziraphale’s taste it seemed like it could use some watering down. But then again, that was exactly what he was going to do with it.

He headed back to the banquet, but noticed that Sarah was already gone. So things were proceeding according to plan, Aziraphale thought.

More servants appeared, this time a small army of them, led by a pair of strapping muscled guards and Aziraphale’s eyebrows went up; was this to protect him or to keep him from running?

“The master bids us to bring you to the bridal chamber.”

“Y-yes, of course, right away.” Aziraphale held the full rhyton in both hands, careful not to spill the wine.

As he walked to the bridal chamber followed by this troop of servants and tailed by more than a few curious guests, he took long deep breaths to calm himself down. It would do no good to walk in as nervous as the bride; he had to have all his wits about him to take down Asmodeus.

The servant opened the door for him, and he stepped inside. As the door closed behind him with ominous finality, Aziraphale locked it, giving it a glare so that it would stay locked. Best not to have interference from the mortals, he thought. 

Aziraphale brought the wine up to his lips.

He took a fortifying sip, and then breathed a blessing over the dark wine. In his hands the golden cup shimmered briefly and the wine miraculously turned clear, the dark liquid swirling into pure water. 

Holy water.

He took a deep breath. If all went to pot, if Asmodeus...well, if Asmodeus was who he was... The holy water would at least be here, insurance against something worse. He set the rhyton carefully on a table by the door, turning the lion’s head to face the bedchamber as if a golden guardian. 

Just in case, Aziraphale thought. He slipped his hand into his pocket, closing his fingers about the dried liver and heart of the very big fish, and he stepped in past the entry into the bedroom.


	31. The Bride

Aziraphale caught a glimpse of her as he walked in. Tall and slim, she sat on the edge of the bed facing the entry, her form shrouded in a long dark veil, her head crowned with crimson jewels and polished serpentinite set in silver. She didn’t seem tense or nervous; she merely existed, a cold, unmoving statue with the tips of her long pale fingers just barely visible beyond the embroidered edge of her voluminous sleeves. She sighed hearing his footsteps, her head turning slightly as if to look at him as he walked into view, but she said nothing.

An icy draft rattled the high shuttered windows, guttering the lamps briefly, and Aziraphale paused, wondering if it was Asmodeus or if it was just the wind.

She shivered, and Aziraphale gestured minutely, warming the room with a tiny and completely unobtrusive miracle, and smiled a little to himself once he realized that she was no longer tense and trembling.

His eyes searched the room, looking for the incense burner, and upon seeing it, began to make his way over toward it, fingering the dried, blessed fish organs in his pocket. He decided he would stand by the burner for a while, pretending to admire its craftsmanship, but ready to throw down the fish organs into the embers if Asmodeus were to appear. 

Aziraphale stood by the incense burner, hands in his pockets, and he glanced back at the human. She sat still, but her head was inclined slightly toward him and he wondered if that meant she was watching him. It was impossible to know for certain; her face was completely covered by the veil. He frowned, thinking.

Just as he was about to say something in greeting, she spoke.

“You have sought riches and powerful alliances through marriage, stranger, but instead you have found your death.” Her voice was as cold as the wind, and something about it shivered him to his core.

The liver and heart dropped from his fingers, falling back into his pocket. 

“Crowley, is that you?”

Crowley brushed the veil off of her face, revealing her long crimson hair.

“Wait, Aziraphale? Is that you?”

With an impatient gesture, Aziraphale shook off the disguise.

“How did you know?” Crowley asked.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but then I thought it was strange how you were dressed. Because women in Persia don’t cover their faces with their veils like this,” Aziraphale smiled, and he realized that for the first time in what felt like a long time, he meant that smile. “Besides, you always sound like you, no matter who you are.”

“What are you doing here?” Crowley asked, stunned, as she watched Aziraphale untie a cord from about his neck, his movements slow and deliberate as he slid his golden crown of a ring back on the smallest finger of his right hand.

“I should say the same thing about you my dear. What are you doing here?”

“Trying to keep anything bad from happening by standing substitute. You know...er...insurance. What about you?”

“The very same. Though...” Aziraphale suddenly turned back to the entry. “Oh, insurance! Wait. Is that really you?”

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked.

“You’re not Asmodeus, are you?”

“No. Promise. It’s really me.” Crowley stood up, straightening her veil as she did so. “Let me prove it.”

“H-how?” Aziraphale backed up, eyeing the entry, but Crowley merely gestured for him to come closer. She took Aziraphale’s hands with gentle care.

“Is this all right?” She murmured, as she kissed Aziraphale’s fingers, one at a time, the blush standing in her cheeks as she did so.

“Yes.” Aziraphale sighed, relieved. “It’s more than all right.” 

Aziraphale closed his hands around Crowley’s, their fingers entwined. 

Silence. Crowley stared at their joined hands for a long moment, not meeting Aziraphale’s gaze, and Aziraphale could feel the tremor pass all the way through her body, the vibration transmitted through her fingers, and when he looked closely, he could see that her face was as red as if she had been drinking.

“Er. Um. Oh thank goodness you’re back Crowley! And. And what a lovely corporeal body. Is it new?”

“Yes. Rather the same model, really. Nothing new, at least nothing new that I’ve noticed. I can still do this.” 

Narrowing her eyes, Crowley concentrated for a moment, and around them, the fluttering lamplight froze into place briefly before Crowley shrugged it away and time flowed again. “So that wasn’t explicitly tied to that specific body after all, even after eating that forbidden herb of immortality.”

“How interesting. I wonder, I really do, what it was that it did to you.”

Crowley shrugged. “Nah, don’t worry too much about it. It is what it is.” She let go of Aziraphale, and seemed to lose her balance, sitting down quickly to cover up the awkward motion. 

Aziraphale frowned, not certain if he should say something, but then he said it anyway. “Are you all right Crowley?”

“Oh sure, fine,” Crowley lied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seem a bit...off-kilter?”

“Uh.” Crowley looked away, muttering. “Could be because of the new corporeal form. I’m all wobbly still.”

“Still adjusting?”

“Yeah,” Crowley admitted. “Spent the last few days just working on movement. Fine motor skills are getting somewhat better, but I’m working on it. Tricky buggers, fingers and all the finging they do. At least talking came back quickly. Needed that for the swears.”

“Oh, that’s where you've been? Setting your body straight?”

“Yep. Something like that. Rolling around Conference Room B, trying to learn how this new body’s nerves and tendons and muscles work together. Not very fun for the other demons because Conference Room B has no windows, but I reserved it ahead of time so they can’t complain. You know, you’d think that they’re all the same, bodies, but spend a few weeks outside out of your own human-shaped assigned body and it’s enough to forget how the feet work or how to pick things up. That’s why I don’t like possession much. Messy business, being in someone else’s body, not certain how that body’s head turns or which direction hands and feet should be going. And the more feet, the worse it gets. Oh, Aziraphale, if you’re ever in the possession game, stay away from insects, I am warning you. They seem convenient because they’re everywhere, but don’t think just because you have wings and a multitude of eyes that you can navigate something with wings and compound eyes...it’s the six blessed legs that get you every time. Legs are always a problem.”

“Um, of course. I’ll remember that.” Aziraphale blinked. “And of course if you’re having some difficulties with the new corporeal form, please, just let me know what I can do. Of course I’ll help you with whatever I can help you with and- oh! Oh gracious, let me take care of this one little thing before I forget.” Aziraphale hurried back to the entry as if to leave, and Crowley moved reluctantly, as if to stand again.

“Oh no, my dear. Don’t bother getting up. Do stay back, please. It’s rather dangerous. I have a little insurance of my own, some holy water-” Aziraphale reached for the rhyton and picked it up, tilting the vessel to show Crowley the contents.

“Holy...did you say holy water?”

“Yes, of course. Why, what’s the matter? 

“It’s a good thing you didn’t use the holy water, because that would have destroyed him.”

It took a long shocked moment for Aziraphale to grasp the implications, at which time Aziraphale gasped. “Oh no!”

“Oh yes, that much holy water would destroy a demon. Even a Duke of Hell or a Prince of Hell. Didn’t you know?”

“I was hoping to mildly inconvenience him but not...destroy him outright. That would have caused a problem!” With a sharp gesture, the water in the rhyton disappeared.

“Something far worse than a mere problem, angel. It would have seriously damaged the balance of power between Heaven and Hell,” Crowley said. “Almost as bad as if an Archangel were destroyed. No, the equivalent.”

“I can’t imagine it,” Aziraphale shivered. “It would have been a major incident. Just the documentation alone...”

“Forget bureaucracy, angel. It would have meant all-out war. Once Heaven knew that the scales were tipped in their direction, they would have immediately attacked. Four archangels versus three Princes of Hell, besides whoever else in Hell has already been destroyed or imprisoned? Heaven would make short work of us, with all of Creation between as the battleground.”

“Oh my goodness. I didn’t know...” Aziraphale shivered, trembling almost violently. “I just thought I should have some protection just in case...”

“Here, sit. Have some actual wine.” Crowley pointed to the wine jar. Aziraphale poured himself a brimming cup of clear golden wine in a heavy fluted glass cup and another for Crowley, who indicated with a tilt of her head that Aziraphale should set it down on the wine table beside the bed. “They left me with quite a bit of it; I suppose they thought it might help us get through the night. Well, that is Sarah. Or Tobias. Or both. Speaking of which, where is Tobias?”

“Asleep in the guest room, dreaming good dreams. And Sarah?”

“The same, but in her own bedroom, with the dog.”

“Did you tuck her in, Crowley?”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a look of disdain. “Obviously.”

“Then I suppose we don’t have to worry about them for now.” Aziraphale sighed, “Ah, this wine is strong but good.”

“Isn’t it though?” Crowley smiled, reaching out to the wine but then changing her mind.

“It is.” Aziraphale balanced the base of the wine cup on three fingers, admiring the pale green glass and the way the golden wine seemed to glow within the thick glass before taking another sip. “I suppose you’ll want to hold it with both hands?”

“Yes, please. That courtly three finger balance is beyond me right now. Mind handing it over?”

Picking up Crowley’s glass, Aziraphale held it steady for her until she wrapped both hands around it carefully. It wasn’t the usual way of drinking this sort of wine, but it mattered little as long as Crowley could drink.

“I’m rather surprised that this holy water business isn’t better known. I should really report it, shouldn’t I? Management needs to know about this. Gabriel or Michael or-”

“Angel, I doubt you could tell them how you found out. After all, this is still consorting with the enemy.” Crowley drank from the cup, licking at a spilled drop on her thumb before setting the empty glass down onto the table with a clunk and wobble. 

“Yes, but this is important to know. I’m surprised no one’s brought this up before. I always thought that we could use holy water as a weapon of last resort-”

“And now you know why it’s a weapon of last resort. I’m sure management knows why too. Probably haven’t said anything about the details, hoping someone would slip up and take the fall. Well, not literally falling,” Crowley said, slowly touching each tip of the fingers of one hand to the other, one at a time. “But you know, falling, metaphorically speaking. Pushing it off on some poor fool to take the blame for upsetting the balance and then claiming they didn’t know.”

“It always comes back down to the balance, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale finished the wine and poured himself some more. “Goodness, they serve a strong cup in Persia.”

“All the stronger because it was a special vintage for this occasion. Poor children, that their elders think that drink will sooth their woes.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a bit more soothed.” Aziraphale joked.

“Now, is that because of the drink or is that because of me?” Crowley teased, to which Aziraphale had no reply but to drink deeply so as not to meet Crowley’s eyes over the cup.


	32. The Truth

“My dear, I don’t mean to spoil the mood of our little party but you know I must ask. What about Asmodeus?”

“What about him?” Crowley finished the cup and her hand hovered over the silver wine jar before deciding against a third cup. But then she poured herself a third cup, Aziraphale’s broad hand steadying the jar with solicitous care.

“Well, if...if he’s not here? Where is he?”

“That’s,” Crowley said, taking a deep drink. “Complicated.”

“My dear, you needn’t say anything that could get you in trouble. In fact, don’t tell me anything, it’s probably best that I don’t know.”

“Actually no one really knows except Beelzebub. Don’t even think Satan knows. Rumor has it that he’s been bound.”

“Bound? What does that mean?”

“Don’t ask.” Crowley made a face. “It was his fault entirely but...I don’t think even he deserved that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“I shouldn’t say this, but. I suppose I can trust you. Promise you won’t say anything.” 

“Of course. You have my discretion and my word, as always.”

Crowley looked away. “The Dark Council interrogated both of us. He admitted to discorporating me, I admitted I accidentally got in the way so that he discorporated me. Then it turns out that Heaven’s surveillance saw the whole sordid affair, after which Gabriel sent a cheeky message to Beelzebub. Which is how Beelzebub found out about it.”

Aziraphale gasped. 

“Exactly.”

“What exactly did you say to the Dark Council?”

“Eh, you know.” Crowley shrugged, an eloquent gesture. “Er, just a mistake. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“But doesn’t that mean you were caught out in a lie?” 

“Nah, course not. It was a mistake. I made a mistake and he did too,” Crowley gave Aziraphale a sharp, stern look that brooked no further questions. “So now he is being punished. Bound by hand and foot in the deepest depths of Hell. Of course, it won’t last long; he’s a Prince after all. If he’s tied up too long, Satan will notice he’s missing and demand answers, and Beelzebub doesn’t want the scandal to spread that far. Besides that, they’ll have to trot him out at some point as a show of power to Heaven. But for now, he’s bound and probably will be for some time.”

“Then why are you here? Crowley? You can’t say?”

“Well, my calendar was cleared–“

“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Aziraphale gave Crowley a look.

“Er. Well. Uh.” Crowley scowled. “Fine. Why I tell you everything is beyond my comprehension. Someone would have me destroyed if they knew I was telling you everything, I swear. But if you must know, it was for the girl. She’s not ready for another wedding night, and I didn’t want her facing some randy young human with only one thing on his mind.”

“Well, I want you to know that things will be fine in that regard; I have assurances from Tobias that he will be a proper gentleman and treat her as if she were his own sister until time comes when both of them are friends and both of them are ready.” 

“Do you think that’s true?”

“Yes, I believe so. He’s a very earnest and honest young man.”

“Well, isn’t that something.” Crowley sat back. “Looks like we did what we set out to do, even if it didn’t make much of a difference. You were here to stop Asmodeus. I was here to stop Tobias. And now we’re both here with not much to do but sit and wait it out until dawn.”

“There are far worse things we could be doing,” Aziraphale said, and then when Crowley gave him a knowing look, Aziraphale felt himself blushing furiously. 

“Why don’t we first lie down then,” Crowley suggested, and lifting the crown off her head, she slipped off the veil and tossed it aside carelessly so that it slithered off the end of the bed and onto the floor. The crown was set down with a metallic clink on the bedside table, jostling the glasses of wine, and Crowley sprawled out on the bed.

“Crowley. Oh. My dear boy. I.” 

“Yes?” Crowley asked expectantly, her hand propping up her head.

“I. Well, this is hard for me to say but. I really do need to say it.” Aziraphale paused, considering his words carefully. “I really...I must apologize.”

Crowley blinked, utterly confused. “For what?”

“Well. You see, it’s a rather long and sordid tale that began about twenty three years ago in Athens, on that very night that we both attended various symposiums in Athens with-”

“Yes, yes, I remember. Not an easy night to forget.”

“Yes. Well, recall that I had a little...run-in? With Asmodeus.”

Crowley’s eyes grew cold. “I remember.”

“Um, I might have had a foolish little notion planted in my head? By a Prince of Hell?” Aziraphale admitted, embarrassed.

“Oh? And just what kind of an idea would that be?”

“First, promise me you won’t get mad.”

“I can’t promise that, angel. You know that.”

“Right.” Aziraphale swallowed, and then reached once more for the wine for a fortifying drink before realizing that his cup was empty. “All right, I should just say it. The idea was. That...perhaps. Perhaps if a demon could corrupt an angel. Well, you know...uh, physically. With the body, through carnal knowledge. That the obverse could be true? And that perhaps an angel could redeem a demon in the same manner…?”

“Oh.”

“And so since then...” Aziraphale gestured vaguely. “I had ideas...foolish ideas, mind. That maybe I could redeem you.”

“Oh.”

“And I tried my best to figure out a situation where it could work but could never quite pull it off and I had all these silly thoughts that I could somehow rescue you from Hell and then we could be...and oh that was so stupid of me and so very disrespectful and I am so very, very sorry my dear and I shouldn’t have tried to play well, play God, and-”

Crowley was quiet, so still and unmoving that Aziraphale felt himself tensed at the profound silence, but Crowley shook her head and reached out to the angel, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to calm him. 

“I would be lying if I said that I never had the same ideas before,” Crowley admitted. “The things I said to Asmodeus about trying to make you fall...they weren’t all lies. Besides, I can’t lie to him. Not very well, at least. He knows me too well. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it on some level.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

Crowley shrugged, but then remembered that Aziraphale could not have overheard his conversation with the Prince of Hell. “It would have been a coup, if I could have corrupted you into falling. They would have made me a Duke of Hell if I could have pulled it off. I would have had my own division and everything. Middle management. And then you’d be right down there with me, but...I couldn’t do it. You would have hated working for Asmodeus, even more than you hate working for Gabriel. And...it wouldn’t have been worth it. I couldn’t live, knowing I damaged you.”

“Oh.”

“So here we are. Two idiots trying to pull off the impossible.” Crowley drank down her wine to the lees and nearly tossed them to the ground before remembering that the Persians did not play kottabos. 

“Really, you think it’s impossible?” Aziraphale breathed, or remembered to breathe more like, realizing how close he had come to danger from Crowley, just as Crowley had come close to danger from him.

“Heard of anyone falling since...well, since the Fall? And that was eons ago. Ages before the creation of this world. Lots of time and worlds since, and you don’t see any new faces Downstairs or hear of anyone demoted so far that they end up on the top rung of Hell. Well, not you know, being in charge of anything, but the rungs are reversed and-”

“Right, I understand what you mean. You’ve put some thought into this, haven’t you?”

“Sometimes there’s nothing to do but think, and it’s better to think about the big problems of existence than your own specific problems of existence,” Crowley said coolly. “More wine?”

“Oh yes, please let me pour you some more.”


	33. Another Marriage

“Sorry about surprising you, angel. Would’ve sent you a message if I could’ve.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right. But did you know that you have been sending me messages?”

“Really,” Crowley drawled.

“I wasn’t sure if I should say anything but the truth is, I have been receiving messages from you for some time now.”

“Oh? How so?” Crowley looked over blearily, wondering if it was the wine that made Aziraphale’s statement more confusing or if it was inherently unclear.

“Uh, perhaps I shouldn’t have said it. But you should probably know this just in case, because you probably don’t want me overhearing your private thoughts?”

“Rather cryptic, angel. What are you talking about?”

“Yes, well. It’s birds, you see.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sometimes my dear, when you talk to birds, they seek me out and talk to me. With your voice, saying whatever it was that you said to the bird.”

“Oh?”

“Quite. They’re rather...erm, that is, messages of an intimate nature?”

“I don’t talk dirty to birds,” Crowley said with a huff.

“No, I don’t mean it that way, I meant.” Flustered, Aziraphale unfastened his coat and then immediately fastened it back up again. Was it getting warm in here? “I meant that they were your private thoughts, and that I should have no right to be listening to them.”

“Angel, if you heard my private thoughts it meant that I must have wanted you to know,” Crowley drawled. “As it stands, I doubt it was anything that serious or important.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked away.

“...but thank you, Aziraphale. Appreciate you telling me.” Crowley hiccuped. “Will be more careful in the future, et cetera.”

“Yes, of course...” Aziraphale said politely, staring down into his wine, remembering what Crowley did not seem to want to remember.

“Come on, knock that hangdog look off your face. We’ve done our best, no humans are being killed or molested tonight, at least not here in this room, which in the grand scheme of things is something moderately miraculous, wouldn’t you say? And we are both. Both of us pleasantly, pleasantly bu- dru- uh, full of wine.”

“Yes, yes we are.” Aziraphale smiled, politely.

“Come on, let’s...ah bless it.” And then the empty glass fumbled out of Crowley’s lax hands as her fingers forgot to hold on, but Aziraphale managed to catch it before it hit the ground.

“How’d you do that?” 

“Miraculously,” Aziraphale grinned.

“You know, speaking of miraculously, how often do we get a night alone like this? No one watching, no unfinished business...”

“Yes, perhaps for you, but I still have some more work to complete with Tobias and his father Tobit.”

“Yeah but you know. That’s for tomorrow. And the day after that. Days. But tonight. We’re free for a few hours. Been drinking for a few hours. Still got hours to go before dawn.” Crowley flopped back down onto the bed. “Let’s pretend we’re free, just for a little while.”

“Free?” Bemused, Aziraphale smiled indulgently. “How should we accomplish that feat?”

“Let’s pretend we’re like the humans. Make our own choices, not beholden to a higher or lower authority, maybe even have a smidge of that free will I keep hearing so much about. No, an entire splash of free will. The entire wine jar of free will. Drunk neat, without any watering down.”

Aziraphale gasped. “You can’t say those words.”

“Too late.” But seeing Aziraphale’s distress, Crowley changed the subject. “Say, wasn’t that a nice wedding feast?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, oh yes, it was lovely. I very much like the food here. Simple fare, roasted meats and porridges, and then lots and lots of dessert! Did you have the sorbet?”

“Rather cold for iced desserts, don’t you think?”

“Well, it is much nicer in the summer to have sorbets, but I claim they’re delicious and seasonal any time of the year.”

“Yeah, well. ‘m more sensitive to the cold than you are, I guess.”

“Oh, right.” Aziraphale unfolded the a blanket that sat on the foot of the bed and tossed the edge over Crowley’s legs. “Is that better?”

“That’s terrible.” Crowley stood up and with an awkward halting step, tumbled onto the bed stiffly, before turning to tucking the covers beneath her chin. “Much better. Well, it will be much better once it warms up.”

“Here, let me help-” Aziraphale began, but Crowley waved him off. 

“No, angel, the fun part about this isn’t the miraculous heating, so much as the sensation of your own body heating up the cool bedding. That’s the best part about beds. That, and lying down…spend all day fighting gravity, and a few hours of lying down unmoving makes all that seem to go away.”

“Yes, I know how you feel about gravity, you’ve made that very clear over the years.”

“Soft grass or warm sand on a sunny day is still better than beds, but I remember the first time I slept in a bed. That was a long time ago.”

“Oh, I do recall the first time I laid down in a bed myself. Not too long after creation...that is, the creation of the Earth. Not, you know, _Creation_.”

“No, it wasn’t that long. Just a few generations out from the first.” Crowley’s face was half-hidden by a fold of the blankets, but even from here Aziraphale could see the golden gleam of her eyes peering out from the shadows like a flicker of flame.

“Yes, it was a long time ago. And another marriage...”

“Really? Were you…?” Crowley reached over to Aziraphale, and Aziraphale took her hand. But it was an awkward position, and Aziraphale realized Crowley’s arm and hand would not like this awkward bend for long, so he shifted, lying down on the bed beside her, though he tucked the blankets around her; he of course did not feel the cold though he recognized its existence.

“Was I what, my dear?”

“Married too? ...erm, uh, that is. Well, a lot of us were ordered to, you know, with the humans...”

“Oh yes, my dear. To a very lovely young lady, one of the descendants of Eve.”

“And?”

“That was about it. Met her for the first time at the little ceremony, some breaking of bread, some drinking of wine...date wine, if I recall correctly, rather sticky and sweet stuff. Roughly made, very basic, nothing as refined as the wine the humans make now. Perhaps very simple folk in the countryside still make wine like this now and again, but I haven’t tasted the like in ages. I stayed the night and by morning she had conceived, so I left.”

“You what?!”

“Orders.” Aziraphale shrugged. “I was told to do my duty by Heaven and return for further orders. Of course, it was much, much later before I realized that perhaps I should have considered staying a bit longer...what about you?”

“It was the same for me. Only...” Crowley’s eyes closed. “Only, I stayed. Through the whole thing.”

“That’s very kind of you to stay through the pregnancy. I understand humans really need a lot of support through the process-”

“No, the whole...the whole life of the child. Children. My children,” Crowley said, her words barely more than a whisper. “I stayed. Had to. Couldn’t just leave the way the others did. Wasn’t enough to just make them, had to stay for them too. Held them as infants. Nursed them if the milk went dry. Sometimes the milk goes dry you know, and if they don’t have that they’ll die. Held their hands while they toddled. Hugged them when they hurt themselves, patched their wounds. Protected them the best I could. In those days, there wasn’t a lot of supervision. Downstairs wasn’t requiring much of me, no reports yet, nothing written down to scrutinize. All they wanted was to stir up a little trouble here and there, maybe tell someone about the details if it came up in the occasional meeting. Mostly everyone else was busy, discovering all the little nooks and crannies of this world and its creations. You’d call it play more so than work. Even Asmodeus wasn’t around to demand things of me; he was too busy exploring humans and Ligur was busy with his own flock of humans. But-”

“But then the Mandate.” Aziraphale scowled, feeling Crowley’s fingers twitch in his grip. “Really, I never agreed with it. It should never have been carried out. Neither the experiment nor its termination.”

“All part of the Great Plan, or so they said.” Crowley tugged the blanket over her head with her free hand. “Always comes back to that, doesn’t it.”

“I never agreed with it. I wanted to argue with them on it, but the Assembly wouldn’t hear any arguments from anyone who wasn’t an archangel. And that defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

“The Dark Council was the same.” Crowley’s voice was muffled beneath the blankets, and Aziraphale did not have to wonder at Crowley’s expression, because he could hear it clearly in her voice, grown hoarse with emotion as she spoke. “And so they were all destroyed. And why? They would all have been without issue anyway. That was part of the agreement, that our children would be barren. But...it didn’t have to be like that. Heaven and Hell could have just let them die naturally; those children – our children – they weren’t immortal. Sure they were long-lived, but all humans were back then. They were just...”

“The Nephilim.” Aziraphale felt the word taste strange in his mouth, and realized that he had not said it, not even thought of it in thousands of years.

“You know what was wrong?” Crowley’s eyes peeked out from beneath a fold of cloth, and her golden eyes gleamed furious. “It’s because none of them were invested. While they were playing at games of raising hybrid soldiers for the armies of Heaven and Hell, I was raising my children.”

“Oh, Crowley...I didn’t know.” Aziraphale pressed Crowley’s hand, taking it with both of his, feeling cool fingers trembling beneath his grip. “I can’t imagine how it must have been for those poor humans that we interacted with.”

“Say it for what it was,” Crowley said bitterly, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “The humans that we used. We used their lives as pawns for our game, and then when we decided we didn’t like this game particularly well because we did not think it through, we destroyed their lives.”

Aziraphale thought of all the meetings in Heaven, the justifications that had been made, the long and tedious presentations from each of the members of the Assembly of Heaven, and remembered that he had not spoken up because there was nothing to speak of; there was no way he or any angel could have voiced their disapproval.

He remembered assenting even as his heart ached and he could not say how he truly felt.

He let Crowley go and began to unfasten his embroidered and fur-lined leather jacket, setting it deliberately aside.

Crowley turned away, drawing the blanket over her head so that she was completely hidden. But then Aziraphale slipped under the blanket, climbing into bed.

“What…?” Crowley muttered and then Aziraphale laid down, drawing her into his arms.


	34. Intimacy

“Aziraphale, what are you doing?” Crowley hissed.

“You don’t like it?” Aziraphale pressed his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder, feeling the fine wool of her dress against the sensitive skin of his face. 

“No, I didn’t say that. But your elbow is digging into my back.”

“Oh, sorry.” Aziraphale moved his arm, and it didn’t seem to have anywhere reasonable to go but around Crowley’s waist. He moved his legs and found them bumping awkwardly into Crowley again. 

“Elbows. Knees. Ouch, what are you doing?”

“Trying my best here, my dear. Maybe I should-”

“No, not there, angel, that won’t do. You’ll be sore, your arm doesn’t bend naturally like that...”

“It’s fine, I-”

“Please, just..._elbows_-”

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry-”

“Too many...arms and legs and absolutely no understanding at all of how they work. Especially under duress. Here, Aziraphale, put your arm here.”

“Well, what do you want me to do? I don’t know how this works! I’m an angel, we don’t do-”

“Like this.” Straightening out Aziraphale’s left arm, Crowley slid in close, Aziraphale’s arm tucked beneath his neck. He wriggled about a little, getting comfortable, until he felt the contour of Aziraphale’s knees behind his own. “But why are you doing this? I thought you said you had given up on trying any...erm, you know-”

“I am. This isn’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Comfort, I suppose? Closeness. Intimacy.” Aziraphale said, closing his arms around Crowley, giving him a fond squeeze. “You don’t have to change for me, my dear. You know that, right?”

“No? Thought you preferred that.” Crowley’s fingers twitched, and he reached up to touch Aziraphale’s hands with a hesitation that seemed strange to Aziraphale.

“I prefer you to be yourself. You needn’t change on my account. I like you just as you are.” 

“Oh.” Breathing a sigh, Crowley changed, the corporeal being no longer of any gender, male or female. And then for a moment, for the length of a handful of heartbeats and a breath or two, it seemed that all the tension dropped out of Crowley’s body, but it came right back as if even new, the body’s memory always returned to this wound-up state.

“Sometimes I wish I had as much...certainty as you do,” Crowley muttered.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing. You really like me? Even though I’m a demon?”

“Well, you’re an angel first, aren’t you?” And then Aziraphale paused, realizing he had said the wrong thing. “By which I mean yes, it doesn’t matter to me if you’re fallen or not. In fact-”

“But what about all the wickedness? The evil? The sinning?” Crowley hissed.

“Professional drawbacks? Not really your fault the things your bosses want you to do? Though...let’s not talk too much more about that-”

“Maybe I want to do them.”

“As if I want to do all the things that Heaven orders me to do.”

“And what about all the other flaws and failures?” Crowley sighed, hands playing over Aziraphale’s fingers. 

“I can’t see you as having so many flaws and failures, my dear.”

“You know geese?”

“Those honky flappy bitey creatures?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t expect that you created them,” Aziraphale said dryly.

“No, obviously not, but I did get humans to bring them into their habitations.”

“So? They taste good roasted. That’s certainly worth some honking and biting. Besides, they don’t have teeth. Well, not real teeth, just those little-” 

“And what about all the other-”

“You can rest, my dear. I’ll be here with you, as long as you like. You needn’t try to chase me off with your wild goose stories.” Aziraphale’s voice whispered against Crowley’s ear, and it sent a shiver through all the flesh of Crowley’s body and it seemed that Crowley had never felt as pleasant a sensation as this before.

“Actually, they’re domesticated goose stories. You’ll stay?” Crowley asked, casually.

“Until you wake.”

“As though I could fall asleep like this,” Crowley scoffed. “Aren’t we supposed to be enemies?”

“Probably. Yes, of course we are.” Aziraphale’s breath brushed hot against the back of Crowley’s neck where long crimson hair had fallen aside, leaving the skin bare and unprotected, and Crowley’s body tensed to the point of trembling.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, fine. Of course. Absolutely. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed his face against Crowley’s back, waiting for Crowley to stop trembling. He took a deep breath; Crowley smelled like nothing, and it reminded him of the recent discorporation; Crowley had not been on Earth for very long in this new body. And then it reminded him that Crowley had been the one to warn him that he should endeavor to smell like something, whether pleasant or foul, just so that the humans would recognize him for one of their own. When was that, he wondered? A long time ago, in Egypt perhaps, and the world was still very new then.

And even though this was new to them both, it felt comfortable, familiar, and slowly Crowley relaxed.

Aziraphale waited, wondering if their conversation would continue, but as time passed, he felt Crowley grow slowly heavier in his arms until he realized that Crowley had fallen asleep.

“So that’s what it’s like when you’re asleep,” Aziraphale sighed. He closed his eyes and leaned in, his lips pressed against the little patch of bared skin at the back of Crowley’s neck.

But he didn’t sleep.


	35. The Song of the Nightingale

As Crowley slept, Aziraphale’s thoughts drifted as though moving with a deep tidal current under the starry night sky. It came back to the same question as it always did; was this the love of all Creation or was this something else?

He took a deep breath and there was a little dizzying shock when he suddenly realized that his breathing had fallen out of synchronization with Crowley’s breaths. When did that happen, he wondered, that they had started breathing in the same rhythm?

It made Aziraphale wonder what it would take to fall asleep, to close his eyes and dream, as the humans called it. They had such vivid stories about the happenings in dreams, and he was curious if Crowley dreamed as well. 

Aziraphale smiled sadly to himself. Of course Crowley did not dream; they weren’t even supposed to have imagination, much less dreams. The rules were very clear on this matter; it was like free will, forbidden to servants of Heaven and thus probably also forbidden to servants of Hell.

A lovely thought, but not realistic. Whatever sleep was, whatever dreams were, these would stay a mystery to Aziraphale.

Just as he wondered how long it would take before Crowley woke up, if it would be soon or perhaps closer to morning when they would have less time to talk, to figure out what to do with the newly married humans, to perhaps have a last sip of wine and share in an indulgent smile before leaving, Aziraphale realized that he had come up with no answer for the question of love. There was nothing definitive, nothing clear and concise, nothing that he could settle upon. It could easily go either way, an individual or a universal love.

But one thing that he did know for certain, beyond all doubt, was that with Crowley, it seemed as if the painful memories of the past – the aching loneliness and isolation and the vast emptiness of Heaven – were exactly that; merely memories and nothing more. It might not be more than the love of all Creation including demons and geese and humans at their worst, but when he realized that his feelings for Crowley were bound up in the absence of pain, Aziraphale could feel the tears welling in his eyes, tears that he blinked away.

Funny thing, he thought, that the absence of pain could cause pain.

A sound, faint and distant at first, and Crowley felt it along the distant edges of perception. As consciousness slowly returned to the corporeal form, Crowley wondered; was this a celestial song? But no, it was imperfect and unformed, nothing near the glorious harmonies of the ranked choirs of angels singing words of praise. Just a singular lonely voice, singing sweetly a melody that dipped and rose, that swelled and changed with every few beats. Was it something the humans made? An unrecognized instrument? And then realization set in.

A bird. 

Memory should suffice; Crowley had heard this bird before. But then another voice joined in, a familiar song whispered in his ear.

_The nightingale is  
the soft-spoken  
announcer of   
Spring's presence_

The rest of the song was hummed, muttered and murmured against Crowley’s ear, and immediately Crowley remembered Aziraphale’s arms. And it was strange, because in that earlier moment of waking, it didn’t seem like Crowley was anywhere at all, floating dreamlike in a warmth and comfort that seemed like it could have only been a memory of a time long past when intimacy and closeness was the whole of Creation, before all of existence was torn and shredded into what seemed like an eternal emptiness, painful and lonely.

Before the Fall.

Crowley clung onto the feeling for as long as it was possible, until slowly it seemed that the contours of the individual self, of the body came back cognition, until Crowley knew once again that this body, the one that was inhabited entirely by Crowley, was completely alone.

Well, not quite.

Crowley took a long breath and Aziraphale knew immediately from the way that Crowley felt in his arms that the demon had awakened.

“Hmm? What?” Crowley sounded confused for a moment, but then tension crept back into those narrow shoulders, those snakey hips. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes. Not for very long though, my dear.”

“Oh good. I was afraid it was a hundred years,” Crowley said, with a hint of dark humor.

“Oh no, not that long, not this time. Though if it were you, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Really?”

“Probably? Actually, really. Though of course upstairs would probably mind...”

Crowley changed the subject. “Never mind that. Let’s get our stories straight first. Sarah and Tobias. They’ll both have exactly the same dream, one that ties up all the loose ends.”

“Oh, good thinking! Where they meet in the wedding chamber, and the demon appears. Then Tobias puts the dried fish organs on the coals of the incense burner...”

“I don’t want to know about dried fish organs, do I? Really? No, angel, please. Don’t tell me.”

“Wherein the demon is suitably chastised with an unholy stink. Well, technically a holy stink-”

“Exorcised. The technical term,” Crowley said dryly.

“You mean, with physical activity?” 

“Exorcised. Not exercised.”

“Sorry, misheard.”

“Do go on, angel.”

“Right.” Aziraphale pressed his cheek against the back of Crowley’s shoulder. “And now exorcised, the demon is chased away and bound by an angel, never to return...”

“Oh, he’s going to hate that people will be telling these tales about him.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said vindictively, surprising himself.

“I suppose he deserves it,” Crowley admitted.

“And more.”

“Well, these days human gossip is the least of his worries,” Crowley muttered. “Fine. Then after the demon is exorcised, an excellent wedding night commences, now that the two are safe from harm, protected by holy fish stench. After they air out the bedchamber, of course. And then a happily ever after for the blessed couple.”

“Yes, happily ever after...” Aziraphale sighed, his arms tightening around Crowley.

“And we go back to our work. But not immediately.”

“Why do you say that, Crowley?”

“Well, someone might have cleared my schedule for quite a few years. It’s a vacation for me after this.”

“Oh, but I have some work I have to do still for Tobias and his family. My part in his story is not quite over.”

“So? Finish it up and meet me in Ephesus.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I could do that. Give me a few weeks to wrap this up. I still have to travel to Rages and then back to Ecbatana, and then return with Tobias to his father’s house in Nineveh.”

“Sure. Gives me time to travel back to Ephesus. Clean my house. Work on the garden...”

“We should get up and get going then,” Aziraphale said, without moving. “Dawn’s coming soon.”

“If only I could stop time,” Crowley said, with more than a hint of irony, not moving either.

“If only. But more than a few minutes is probably a bad idea.”

“Probably,” Crowley said. “Couldn’t possibly be good for Creation. Gum up the works or something.”

“No, probably not good. We wouldn’t want the works to get gummed up,” Aziraphale agreed. “Could likely cause things to crumble or crack. Existence, that is.”

“All right, enough philosophizing. Mind bringing in the kids? Don’t think I’m up to picking anyone up without dropping them.”

“Of course.”

“Here, Aziraphale. Step aside, I have one last thing I want to do.”

“What’s that?”

Crowley gestured, and a splotch of blood appeared on the sheets. “There, you can set her down on the bed now.” 

“Do you think they’d believe it?”

“Two Jewish virgins? They’ll believe anything. Besides, if anyone is curious or skeptical, it is a miracle after all, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but.” Aziraphale looked uneasy. “It’s dishonest.”

“Maybe. But you know, it’s more for the family than for them.” Crowley gave Aziraphale a look. “Society wouldn’t forgive her otherwise. It’d cause a huge scandal, and she’d be ostracised. Best to start them off on the right footing, even if it is dishonest.”

“I suppose that technically, it is what your job requires. Dishonesty,” Aziraphale said, with more than a hint of irony. 

Crowley grinned, sly and amused. “If anyone wants to dispute the truth of the matter, they can come find me.”

Deeply and calmly asleep, Tobias and Sarah faced each other upon the bed and as the angel and demon watched, the little dog clambered up onto the bed and lay between them, turning thrice before settling down with its nose tucked under its tail. 

For the first time, Sarah looked almost untroubled in her sleep, and Aziraphale noticed that Crowley smiled a little at the sight.

“Besides,” Crowley’s expression grew wry. “No one knows the truth of what happened tonight but the dog. And she’s not telling anyone.”


	36. The Garden of Crowley

As the wind picked up bearing a hint of a cool breeze on the first hot day of the year, the black folds of Crowley’s chiton fluttered around bare legs. Stretching slender arms, Crowley yawned and walked down into the garden, into the deep green of a profusion of growth. Meandering through the paths cut between green plants that knew better than to tangle their branches and leaves in Crowley’s hair or clothes, Crowley made it down to a soft patch of sand beneath the dappled shade of a big sycamore tree. With a sigh Crowley sat down, digging long fingers into the sun-warmed sand. The air itself seemed heavy, redolent with the perfume of herbs and flowers growing in multitude.

Crowley flopped down onto the sand, wriggling about a bit to get comfortable, using one arm as a pillow. A faint smile and the heat of the sun on Crowley’s skin, the profusion of flowers and green leaves and the soft wind that tousled crimson strands of hair and-

A flash of black and white as a bird swooped down inquisitively, a curious magpie. It stared at Crowley and for a long moment Crowley wondered if it carried a message from Aziraphale. Not that so many messages were received, but every now and then a strong flying bird would come by with a message in Aziraphale’s own voice. 

“Got a message for me?” Crowley said hopefully.

The magpie gave Crowley a look of disdain with a sharp, sardonic eye. With a sudden burst of motion it flew away, disappearing into the trees.

Crowley sighed.

Somewhere a hoopoe sang, and Crowley closed serpentine eyes, listening to its repeating song.

Another garden, but the memory was brief, interrupted by the sound of familiar footsteps upon the beaten path. For a moment it seemed that the past and the present melted together, blurring and overlapping like ripples on a pond.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley smiled, sitting up and brushing off the sand.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale hurried up the path. “No need to get up, my dear; I’ll join you forthwith.”

“How was your journey?” Crowley glanced at Aziraphale who had laid down beside the demon, plump hands folded upon his broad chest, legs crossed demurely at the ankles, so unlike Crowley’s ungainly sprawl over the sand.

“Long, as always. But uneventful. We had some lovely traveling weather; the roads didn’t turn into mud, nor did they turn to dust. Isn’t that fortuitous? I didn’t even need to miracle anything, it was just that pleasant. Really, there’s not much one can ask for. Say, isn’t this patch of sand new? And didn’t you used to have some chairs and a table here? That Egyptian style one you like, the one you had brought in from Memphis, the one made from cedar.”

“Eh, that’s all inside.” Crowley waved languorously. “Didn’t feel like setting it up today.”

“Well, this is nice,” Aziraphale said, folding his arms behind his head. “Reminds me of the old days.”

“Egypt.”

“I was thinking Agade. Eating fresh dates in the shade of a traveler’s shelter.”

“Oh, that too. That was nice. I like those better when they’re not dried. Paired nicely with spring water, nice and cool on a hot day. Though I am not fond of the seeds.”

“That’s why you’re not meant to swallow dates whole, my dear. Oh, don’t forget Crete.”

“Oh yes, mustn’t forget Crete.” Crowley’s expression brightened. “And Lesbos.”

“Lesbos.” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley. “Who could forget Lesbos? I have only fond memories of Lesbos. Oh, tell me, did you change your garden? It looks different.”

“Oh yes. Though I found it rather miraculous that everything was the same as I had left it? Not a branch, not even a leaf out of place.” Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale, who shrugged. 

“I wouldn’t know anything about that; I merely came over and watered once in a while. I know nothing about gardens,” Aziraphale said primly. 

“Ah.” Crowley gave him a skeptical look.

“I’m surprised you changed it?” 

“Thought I’d start doing what pleased me,” Crowley said, the words coming slow and deliberate as though they had been rehearsed. “And not what I thought others might want.”

“It’s different. Very...”

“Overly orderly? Dull? Structured? Unrealistic?”

“No, it’s…” And here, Aziraphale smiled. “Very much you,” 

“Very much me,” Crowley agreed.

“Reminds me...that I didn’t bring anything today. Not because I didn’t want to, mind, there’s some very good wine that I was gifted in Nineveh that I want to share with you but... Well, I wasn’t sure if you were doing something already and I didn’t want to tread on your toes, so to speak. After all, I realized that last time I was rather pushy and vastly overstepped certain boundaries-”

“Don’t worry about it. To be honest, I didn’t set anything up,” Crowley said, changing the subject. “Thought you might bring something.”

“Only if you ask me, my dear.” Aziraphale’s eyes wandered past Crowley as a hoopoe fluttered from branch to branch in the tree above them. He took a deep breath. “From now on, only if you ask. I won’t push things, I promise. That was something I shouldn’t have done and won’t do again in the future. Especially because you told me you would handle it.”

Crowley nodded, taking it in.

“Then...” 

Crowley sat up. “Food?”

“I could eat,” Aziraphale admitted, sitting up as well, brushing off the sand that slid off miraculously despite his attempts at grooming.

“I don’t have anything. Well, I have some food in the house but not very much. And it’d need cooking, what I do have.”

“Me neither. Oh, but there is a lovely restaurant in- Actually. Erm, that is. Uh. Say, Crowley, what would you like to do?”

“Me?” Crowley blinked. “Are you-”

“Yes, I’m asking. We’ll do whatever you want.”

It seemed as if a tumult of emotions crossed Crowley’s face in an instant, but then Crowley waved it off, lips moving into the hint of a mischievous smile. 

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Then...” Crowley leaned against Aziraphale, a sinuous arm around the angel’s shoulders. “Then let’s stay here a bit longer. I want to close my eyes and fall asleep beside you.”

“Beside me?”

“Yes. Now, lie back down if you don’t mind, and let me slip my arm beneath your neck...this time I’ll be the one doing the embracing.”

“Oh dear. My dear...are you sure that we should...ah, that’s nice? Oh, my dear, this is lovely and I don’t want to spoil the moment at all because this is so very wonderful but. But what if someone sees?”

“Don’t worry about it, angel. For you, I’ll stop time itself.”


	37. Notes

Aziraphale: It's not in the canon proper!  
Crowley: At least we're adjacent, angel. Canon adjacent.  
Aziraphale: And we're not even mentioned!  
Crowley: Eh, they got most of the story right...

Thanks to Elena for prereading, especially for those excellent discussions, comments, and suggestions that made this story a much better story than the original draft. Thanks as well to Elinekeit for listening and commenting, despite all the distressing Asmodeus scenes in this story. Special thanks to seashadows for answering some questions about ancient Biblical marriage. And of course, thanks to all the great readers who leave such interesting and insightful comments, often on every chapter. I couldn’t do this nearly as well without you!

I’ve borrowed some of the notes from previous stories to fill in some details, but not too gratuitously, I hope. I’ve rewritten some of them and updated more than a few.

**Chapter 1: The Garden**

According to the Oxford Annotated Bible, the Book of Tobit was written somewhere between 225-175 B.C.E., in Hebrew or Aramaic, by a Jewish author, possibly in Palestine. The original story was set sometime after some Jewish tribes were forcibly exiled to Assyria in the 8th century B.C.E. https://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Book_of_Tobit

Since there are historical and geographic discrepancies as well as anachronisms in the Book of Tobit itself ( https://www.britannica.com/topic/Tobit-biblical-literature ), I decided it would be safe to set the story in a different time to fit the chronology of the Mistakes Were Made series of stories. It was hard picking a date but I eventually narrowed it down to a few parameters: it had to be after 423 B.C.E. (Mistakes Were Made: The Symposiums), before 356 B.C.E. (the birth of Alexander the Great), and definitely quite some time before 225-175 B.C.E. So instead of moderately recent exiles to Mesopotamia and Persia from the Assyrian captivity as the original story states, Tobit’s family and Sarah’s families are now those who have chosen to settle in Nineveh and Ecbatana in the following generations. 

Here is a nice timeline: https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/acref/9780191735400.timeline.0001?rskey=XLQJJA&result=32

This story is set a few years after the end of the Peloponnesian War. Aziraphale and Crowley, who we last saw in Athens (Mistakes Were Made: The Symposiums), have changed their base of operations.

Ephesus is in Ionia, on the western coast of Anatolia (modern day Turkey), and at the time was part of the Hellenic world. However, by this time it was (again) under Persian rule, though most sources seem to suggest that not much changed in the daily life of its citizens despite Persian hegemony. 

The Persian Empire at this time is also known as the Achaemenid Empire. More information here: https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/acha/hd_acha.htm  
https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1002/9781118455074.wbeoe260

Ephesus is near the modern site of Selçuk in İzmir Province, Turkey. The city was famous for its Temple of Artemis, which was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, and burned down the day Alexander the Great was born. I imagine Crowley’s house in the hills just outside the city proper, but close enough to walk.

The word “paradise” comes from a Persian word that means an enclosed garden. Here’s a neat article I found about ancient gardens while researching. https://blog.britishmuseum.org/paradise-on-earth-the-gardens-of-ashurbanipal/

The style of chiton Crowley is wearing is Ionian, which makes sense since they’re in Ionia. The Ionian chiton is pinned over the arms. https://world4.eu/the-tunica/  
Some more about ancient Greek clothes: https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/grdr/hd_grdr.htm

The wine at the time was unfiltered and people didn’t drink the dregs/lees that were often full of sediment. Ancient Greeks drank their wine watered down. It was very socially unacceptable and considered unhealthy to drink wine neat. More on mixing wine here: https://laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com/2004/10/wine-and-water.html

“_The sycamore tree was related to romance, due to its manifestation in it of the goddess Hathor, the goddess of love. More specifically, it was a trysting tree; it was a place where lovers met. It doesn't only provide cool, deep shade and seclusion, but actively participated in lovers' affairs._” From: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/313473899_The_Sycamore_in_Ancient_Egypt_-_Textual_Iconographic_Archaeopalynological_Thoughts_Mohammed_AZZAZY_Azza_EZZAT 

Crowley is using a plate similar to this (but with ducks): https://www.artic.edu/artworks/255/fish-plate

At this time, in both the Greek and Persian cultures, people (of rank) reclined on couches to eat. Crowley has things set up more in the Egyptian style of feasting, with a table and chairs. Though usually in Egypt only people of rank sat in chairs at feasts, most people sat on the ground.

Besides looking up what kind of foods might be eaten in Anatolia at the time, it’s also nice to figure out what is in season (e.g. cucumbers). I used California as an approximate since it’s on a similar latitude as Anatolia, and also has a Mediterranean climate: http://www.sfma.net/consumer/inseason.shtml 

Gender switches in this story are intentional.

In this story series, soup was one of the first human-made foods that Crowley actually liked (Mistakes Were Made: The Epic of Gilgamesh).

Some of these changes referenced between Aziraphale and Crowley happened in Mistakes Were Made: The Symposiums.

Some pretty terrible things happened in Athens toward the end of the Peloponnesian War. The most famous event is probably the death of Socrates. 

A hetaira is something like a courtesan. The ancient Greeks did make a distinction between common prostitutes (pornai) and hetairai. There were buyable women, and then there were hetairai who were generally well-educated and accomplished in contrast to buyable women who were mostly slaves. https://penelope.uchicago.edu/~grout/encyclopaedia_romana/greece/hetairai/hetairai.html 

Lavender in this series is associated with Aziraphale’s scent.

**Chapter 2: The Scent of Juniper**

Juniper is associated with Asmodeus: https://tinyurl.com/yyoh56pn

Ancient Greek beds and furniture: http://www.hellenicaworld.com/Greece/Ancient/en/Furniture.html

If you’re curious about ancient lamps, the Getty has a good book on the subject: https://www.getty.edu/publications/virtuallibrary/pdf/9781606065150.pdf and a listing of a bunch of different lamps in their collection by subject: https://www.getty.edu/publications/ancientlamps/iconography/

I had imagined Crowley to have some kind of lampstand, not quite like this but it would have been bronze. https://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/10386/unknown-maker-candelabrum-greek-late-6th-century-bc/

Asmodeus is full of lies. By now he also knows Crowley prefers to be called Crowley, but refuses to call Crowley by the preferred name.

Triremes and gauloi are among the sailing vessels that would have been seen at the time. More here: https://exploration.marinersmuseum.org/watercraft/phoenician-ships/  
https://www.naval-encyclopedia.com/goodies-naval-encyclopedia/antique-ships/

To be honest, I can’t remember exactly what I had picked for the sesame honey cakes that Aziraphale buys to bring to Crowley, but there are variants that are actually more like a cheesecake. At the time I was writing, I looked up different desserts in Athenaeus ( http://www.attalus.org/old/athenaeus14c.html ) and in the process found something that you could actually bake yourself. There is an adapted modern recipe! https://tavolamediterranea.com/2019/08/03/the-greek-sweet-tooth-choirinas-goat-cheese-honey-cake/ 

Wine at the time was shipped in amphorae. Here are some nice images depicting how the wine would have been shipped: https://www.researchgate.net/figure/AMPHORA-STOWAGE-ABOARD-SHIP-SOURCE-Authors-rendering_fig4_247738955

In this story series, roses and myrrh were associated with Crowley, and roses and juniper with Asmodeus.

**Chapter 3: Pomegranates and Honey Cakes**

Completely unintentionally this image of the world folding around them as Crowley and Asmodeus traveled is very similar to some imagery from the Bible, which my prereader Elena pointed out to me during the writing process:  
Isaiah 34:4 “_...and the heavens shall be rolled together as a scroll..._” https://biblehub.com/isaiah/34-4.htm  
Revelation 6:14 “_Then the sky receded as a scroll when it is rolled up, and every mountain and island was moved out of its place._” https://biblehub.com/revelation/6-14.htm  
Here are some medieval artistic depictions of this imagery of the heavens being rolled up: https://www.reddit.com/r/ArtHistory/comments/ex6m5p/an_angel_rolling_up_the_sky_apocalyptic_scene/

This method of travel is not like the method of moving up from the ground; it is something else entirely and appears to be only limited to someone of the power of a Prince of Hell. Ostensibly this means the Archangels can do something like this too.

Ecbatana is a major city in ancient Media, part of the Persian Empire, and has since been built over into the modern city of Hamadan. It is near Alvand Mountain and was the summer palace of the Achaemenid kings. Some ancient sources suggest that the palace complex at Ecbatana was surrounded by rings of seven different colored walls: http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/ecbatana and https://www.livius.org/articles/place/ecbatana-hamadan/ 

Ecbatana/Hamadan is also the setting of the Book of Esther, and the tomb of Esther and Mordecai is found in Hamadan. https://www.fowler.ucla.edu/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/LightAndShadows_CRU.pdf

Additional trivia: Alexander the Great’s companion Hephaistion died in Ecbatana.

I couldn’t find many sources for houses in Achaemenid Persia, but this gave me an idea of what the layouts were like, mostly rooms surrounding a courtyard: http://www.cais-soas.com/News/2005/March2005/17-03.htm One can imagine that most of the houses described in this story are larger and grander versions of this ordinary three room house.

It was definitely hard to find sources on women’s clothing, but I made do with what I could find. Crowley’s dress is based on the Achaemenid dress found here: http://kavehfarrokh.com/achaemenids/clothing-styles-of-women-in-ancient-iran/  
and here is more information on clothing: http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/clothing-ii

The imagery of the clothing embroidered with a sacred tree bearing pomegranates comes from Assyrian Costumes and Jewelry by Samir Johna and Regina Tower: https://tinyurl.com/vwlamhp Here is an example of a detail of Assyrian clothing embroidery with the sacred tree from the Museum of the Ancient Orient in Istanbul: https://yadi.sk/a/GIm4UC8C3WBNzf/5affdbf9bae0301c5cf1442d 

Time for pomegranates! Lots and lots of pomegranates! Thanks to Elena for helping me find detailed images of pomegranates in clothing and on jewelry (not an easy task). The sources are mostly Assyrian (well, Neo-Assyrian) which predates this story by a few hundred years. However, given the longevity and conservative nature of both demons and angels, and the fact that Asmodeus is the one picking the outfit, it isn’t too strange for him to be putting Crowley in jewelry with old-fashioned iconography. While most of these sources depicted are necklaces and other items, the symbolic choice of pomegranate bracelets is similar to the choice of snake bracelets used in the previous story, Mistakes Were Made: The Symposiums.

Here is a carving of a pomegranate that was probably worn on clothing: https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/54.117.7/  
Some pomegranate earrings, found about halfway down the page: http://aina.org/news/20150306210942.htm  
This is really fun: A pomegranate crown and an accompanying curse. Also try not to die far from home (Nimrud): https://www.world-archaeology.com/features/nimrud-the-treasures-of-the-queens/  
Carving of a woman wearing a headdress with pomegranate beads: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/324329  
Carving of a “woman in the window” with pomegranate jewelry: https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/57.80.12/  
Sacred winged figure wearing a pomegranate necklace: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/322614  
And further detail of said winged figure: https://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details/collection_image_gallery.aspx?partid=1&assetid=353513001&objectid=367058#more-views

Why all this fuss over pomegranates? Some Biblical scholars thought it was the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. And then, there’s that famous Greek myth involving pomegranates and an abduction by a lord of the underworld...

Like Aziraphale, Asmodeus wears a ring too, which is also a crown of sorts, though shaped like a serpent. Though like Aziraphale, Asmodeus also wears his ring on his pinky, unlike Aziraphale it’s worn on the left (sinister!). Asmodeus’ snake ring is based off of a Roman ring, the middle one, labeled 24.2.9: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/547914 

Electrum is a natural alloy of gold and silver that can look either more or less like gold or silver depending on how much gold or silver is in it.

In Mistakes Were Made: The Epic of Gilgamesh, Crowley gave Aziraphale some carnelian and lapis lazuli beads to use as currency, based off of this necklace: https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/33.35.48/ 

By this time, there have been Jews in Persia for about 200 years, since the Babylonian captivity. The first Achaemenid king, Cyrus the Great, allowed the Jews to return to Jerusalem and rebuild their temple. Of course, not everyone went back; after all, there are still Jews in Iran and Iraq today (though not as many as there were historically). https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jews-of-iran

Trivia: how great was Cyrus the Great? He’s so great that he’s mentioned several times in the Bible.

Asmodeus does not know what purpose a mezuzah has in a human home (it’s apparently not necessarily used to keep demons out, though historically it seems like it was hoped that mezuzot would keep demons and other evils out): https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/mezuzah/ 

Would a demon/incantation bowl have given Asmodeus more problems? Probably not. But they’re cool: https://blog.nli.org.il/en/magical_bowls/ and https://www.lib.umich.edu/files/exhibits/pap-/magic/def2.html

If you haven’t already read it, Crowley getting time-stopping powers is in the bonus chapter of the first story, Mistakes Were Made: The Epic of Gilgamesh. These powers were a secret kept between Aziraphale and Crowley until the previous story, Mistakes Were Made: The Symposiums.

The ancient Egyptians invented locks. Here is some info on ancient locks and keys:  
https://www.historicallocks.com/en/site/h/other-locks/locks-of-wood-and-iron/sliding-bolt-locks/  
https://www.historicallocks.com/en/site/h/articles/historyaboutlocks/history-of-keys/ 

Aziraphale uses something like this, but in gold: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/324026

The mug, much less the winged mug not having been invented yet, I thought a kantharos could be a decent substitute, though they were generally for drinking wine. https://www.beazley.ox.ac.uk/tools/pottery/shapes/kantharos.htm

The decoration on Aziraphale’s cup is similar to an amphora from the Andokides Painter, circa 540 B.C.E. on page 207: https://web.archive.org/web/20180615163246/https://www.metmuseum.org/pubs/bulletins/1/pdf/3258216.pdf.bannered.pdf Right below the amphora on page 207 is a kylix drinking vessel on page 208, attributed to the Andokides Painter and the Lysippides Painter, and done half in black figure, half in red figure, which is the style of cup Aziraphale has.

Apparently writing this story took so long that that last link died a mysterious death online and I had to look it up on the Internet Wayback Machine. Whoops!

Marilyn Skinner states, “Black figure emphasizes action and setting, while red-figure focuses upon the spatial presence and bodies of individuals.” More on red-figure and black-figure ceramics: https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/vase/hd_vase.htm

I found some neat information on ancient Greek kitchens and kitchen tools that I wasn’t able to use: https://www.ascsa.edu.gr/uploads/media/hesperia/147921.pdf

There is a statue placed prominently on Aziraphale’s desk in the bookstore with a similar image, which comes from Plato’s allegory of the charioteer. More here, including some description of the allegory’s relation to love: https://www.theculturium.com/plato-phaedrus-charioteer/

This is a later Roman lamp stand, but I imagine Aziraphale having something sort of like this: https://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/106992/unknown-maker-lamp-stand-roman-1st-century-bc-1st-century-ad/

_Ten years behind, ten years athwart his way  
Waiting and home, lost and unfriended..._  
This quote is from Euripides, The Trojan Women, and is spoken by Cassandra about the labors (tribulations?) of Odysseus. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/35171/35171-h/35171-h.htm

Aziraphale's knife is very loosely based on the Gebel el-Arak Knife (also called The Master of Animals Knife) which can be seen in the Lourve. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gebel_el-Arak_Knife#/media/File:Gebel_el-Arak_knife_mp3h8783-gradient.jpg

**Chapter 4: A Wedding Night**

I had some other sources that I appear to have misplaced, but from what I read, it seems that the bride was brought to the groom’s house in a procession. Here is some more information on Jewish weddings: https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/465162/jewish/The-Jewish-Marriage-Ceremony.htm

Aziraphale is in the Andron, the part of the house that is for entertaining, primarily male guests.

Genesis 28:12 (“Jacob's Ladder”) describes angels as ascending and descending ladders between Heaven and Earth. “_And he dreamed that there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it._”

**Chapter 5: Pacing**

There is a vague reference to the Nephilim here. More on this later.

These chapters that jump between Aziraphale and Crowley’s narratives were very difficult to structure and involved several drafts. I rewrote and restructured these sections quite a few times. Especially hard was working out Crowley’s timeline with the weddings and keeping things like seasons in order.

**Chapter 6: Music**

Herodotus The Histories Book 1, Chapter 98, Section 5-6 describes city walls of Ecbatana:  
_There are seven circles in all; within the innermost circle are the palace and the treasuries; and the longest wall is about the length of the wall that surrounds the city of Athens. The battlements of the first circle are white, of the second black, of the third circle purple, of the fourth blue, and of the fifth orange: thus the battlements of five circles are painted with colors; and the battlements of the last two circles are coated, the one with silver and the other with gold. _  
http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0126%3Abook%3D1%3Achapter%3D98%3Asection%3D5

It’s suggested that the palace complex at Ecbatana was built on a hill, so as a wealthy and influential person, of course Asmodeus’ house would be close to the palace complex.

Here are some examples of Baal statues:  
Smitey Baal: http://cartelen.louvre.fr/cartelen/visite?srv=car_not_frame&idNotice=21565  
Stabby Baal: https://www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/stela-depicting-storm-god-baal  
Sitting Baal: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/322889  
Definitely a lot taller than the actual Beezlebub.

The harp is an arched harp, which is fairly large, and known as a čang in Persia. http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/cang-harp

Want more information on pre-Islamic Persian music history? http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/music-history-i-pre-islamic-iran

I wonder if Asmodeus invented capitalism.

When Crowley wonders about the ‘scale’, this really means ‘mode’. In ancient Greek music theory, modes were comprised of two stacked tetrachords, where a tetrachord is composed of four notes, represented by four strings on an instrument. At this time, the notes of the scales (modes) were ordered in descending order, which later scholars would confuse for ascending. Note that while the names are the same, ancient Greek modes and church modes are not the same. A little music theory here: https://www.britannica.com/art/mode-music

A modern piano has all the notes laid out for you; you can play in any scale/mode you like. But to play a kithara, the instrument would have to be tuned to the mode (scale) of the piece. So for example, one could not play Queen’s “We are the Champions” on a kithara without retuning strings, because it modulates from one key (scale) to another. Maybe it could be done with...two kitharas? 

Common mode is also called Locrian or Hypodorian. Fun trivia: in church modes, Locrian contains a tritone which is the forbidden interval in music, called the _diabolus in musica_. https://www.britannica.com/art/Locrian-mode The opening theme of _The Simpsons_ includes this forbidden interval. Mmm...forbidden interval.

A kithara is a type of harp-like instrument that was mostly played by professional musicians, whereas ordinary gentlemen (and in this time, to be educated including being educated in music, which is discussed in Plato’s Symposium) were usually at least proficient at the lyre. The specific type of kithara would be an instrument with a flat base as opposed to the horseshoe-shaped type which was played by amateurs. Unlike the lyre, the kithara was played while standing and had a strap for this purpose. The plectrum was attached to the instrument with a cord, so it was theorized that the instrument could be played with both fingers and the plectrum, where the musician could temporarily drop the plectrum to switch to fingers.

Around this time the standard kithara had 7 strings (two stacked tetrachords, with a note in the middle overlapping). The strings were probably gut or flax fibers or animal sinew, and it was tuned by a leather mechanism called a kollops. Each string had a name based on the finger used, and later music theorists would accidentally flip the hierarchy of the strings thinking that the ‘highest’ string meant the highest pitch, whereas it was actually the ‘highest’ finger (the thumb) and thus the lowest pitch. For example, modern piano notation designates the thumb as ‘1’ even though on the right hand that would be a lower pitch than ‘5’, the pinky.

**Chapter 7: Wine and Games**

Partway through writing, I changed this wine cup to be a binary cup (“Janus cup”) to parallel Aziraphale’s double-sided cup. http://www.atrium-media.com/rogueclassicism/Posts/00007991.html The suggestion was from Elena, who thought this cup was far too nice to be used by Sarah or Aziraphale later in the story, but seemed like the right kind of cup for Asmodeus. Sadly I found it pretty late in the writing process, but I went back and made a little change. Shh.

Aristophanes’ _The Fry Cooks_ (_Tagenistai_) came out sometime before 400 B.C.E. though it’s not known exactly what year: https://www.loebclassics.com/view/LCL178/1998/pb_LCL178.7.xml and deals with "...locat[ing] utopia in the underworld...detailing the superiority of Plutus' realm to Zeus's and perhaps satirizing the elite institution and exclusive luxury of the symposium, thus making utopian luxuries a satirical target." From The Oxford Handbook of Hesiod, edited by Alexander Loney and Stephen Scully: https://tinyurl.com/qlsg69k 

Apparently “the play featured a banquet scene complete with bowls of pea or bean soup, water, hand-towel, small fish, liver/paté, wild boar, ribs, tongue, spleen, intestine jejunum, belly meat, and warm dinner rolls.” ( http://13classicswithallaker.pbworks.com/w/file/fetch/59942563/stage.pdf )  
I think we can see why Aziraphale might be interested in reading _The Fry Cooks_.

There is some debate over whether ancient readers read silently or outloud. Since ancient Greek was written without spaces, it is possible that things had to be sounded out in order to be understood. In this story I split the difference.  
https://www.mhpbooks.com/have-we-always-read-silently-an-interview-with-professor-daniel-donoghue/  
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2006/jul/29/featuresreviews.guardianreview27

Aziraphale doesn’t have servants or slaves because he doesn’t sleep, and it would distress humans if and when they inevitably would notice.

In the first draft, Crowley’s story was continuous and not interlaced with Aziraphale’s story, so originally the game with Asmodeus was set earlier. 

The choice of Petteia (in Greek) or ludus latrunculorum/latrunculi (Latin) as the game of choice was as a contrast to the game that Crowley and Asmodeus play in the next scene (which originally came first). So like the game Crowley and Asmodeus play, this is a two-player strategy game played with binary pieces. 

Hounds and Jackals is an ancient Egyptian game. https://www.metmuseum.org/blogs/metkids/2016/ancient-egypt-game

Twenty Squares is an ancient Mesopotamian game, also known as the Royal Game of Ur. Twenty Squares was so popular that people played it for around 2000 years, with Twenty Squares boards found throughout the eastern Mediterranean, from Crete to Egypt to Persia to Anatolia.  
https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2014/assyria-to-iberia/blog/posts/twenty-squares

Knucklebones are just another form of dice, albeit the oldest form.  
https://www.ancientworldmagazine.com/articles/ancient-greek-heroes-play/

I like to think that Crowley learns games from actually playing them rather than from learning the rules. So with that in mind, just imagine how he’d put together IKEA furniture.

**Chapter 8: Games and Clothes**

So instead of parallel game scenes as with the parallel music scenes, the scenes are starting to shift off-chapter. This was intentional.

Of course, Asmodeus’ game board is much fancier than Aziraphale’s.

Asmodeus and Crowley are playing Weiqi, also known as Go, which is mainly about capturing and/or surrounding your opponent’s pieces. https://www.britannica.com/topic/go-game

Beelzebub got the idea of “re-education” (basically brainwashing) from Gabriel. Heaven’s been doing it for ages.

Most needles at this time would have been made of bone, apparently because metal tended to rust and would stain the fabric: https://rear-view-mirror.com/2013/10/22/bone-sewing-needles-a-brief-history-of/

Scissors were apparently invented in ancient Egypt. This page has some nice images of ancient and antique scissors: https://gizmodo.com/the-extraordinary-evolution-of-the-most-common-tool-sc-1617641302

A himation is a rectangular piece of fabric that was worn as a cloak. Himations were worn by men and women alike.

I didn’t have an opportunity to use any of this, but I did find some neat resources on weaving: https://chs.harvard.edu/CHS/article/display/4365  
https://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/on-weaving-and-sewing-as-technical-terms-for-ancient-greek-verbal-arts/

I can’t quite find all the sources I used regarding silk in the ancient world, but some sources suggest it had made it to Persia and Greece already by the 5th century B.C.E., where Persians wore it regularly. At the time, it would have had to have been imported from China. Trade was going on, though the Silk Road as we know it was not quite a thing yet.  
http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Journals/AJA/33/1/Silk_in_Greece*.html https://tinyurl.com/sg99h87

I wonder if Asmodeus invented fast fashion.

Here’s a nice resource for measurements in ancient Greece. Lengths were measured with knotted cords, which is also how ship speeds were later measured, in knots. http://www.hellenicaworld.com/Greece/Technology/en/Measurements.html 

The story that Aziraphale tells Crowley’s landlord is essentially a very stripped down version of the story of the Book of Tobit, only with Crowley and without demons or marriages.

**Chapter 10: The Rock Dove**

As far as I have read, much of ancient beer at the time was more like a chunky soupy gruel that was drunk through a filtered straw.

Remember that person who tried to bring a support peacock onto a plane? I bet they were inspired by Crowley.

It's a lovely morning in the ancient Egypt, and you are a demon who is about to unleash a horrible goose onto this friendly farming community. A little history on the domestication of the goose: http://www.fao.org/3/y4359e/y4359e03.htm

Humans beat Crowley to the devaluing; they clipped, filed, or shaved off the edges of the coins for their metal. That’s why modern coins have milled edges; it keeps them from being counterfeited or devalued: https://science.howstuffworks.com/innovation/famous-inventors/5-isaac-newton-inventions8.htm  
https://www.ngccoin.com/news/article/4629/ancient-coin-grading/

The Persian Royal Road was made for quick communication in a large empire, though it seems that ordinary people used it too, though they probably had to get out of the way when the king’s couriers came riding along. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Persian-Royal-Road There are is a nice collection of maps of Persia on this page, including one of the Royal Road: http://maxworldhistory.weebly.com/persia.html

I imagine that angels, fallen and otherwise, don’t shed strands of hair and flakes of skin as we do. 

A rock dove is an ordinary pigeon. “They were also romantic symbols, as doves were supposed to act as messengers between sailors lost at sea and their sweethearts, bringing them their final words of love...” http://periesproject.english.upenn.edu/PeriesProject/animals-in-ancient-persian-culture.html

**Chapter 11: The Messenger**

Bread isn’t really that good for pigeons.

**Chapter 12: Free Will**

Ebony furniture was reserved for the pharoahs: http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/pharaoh/explore/ebony_f1.html  
For example, Tutanhkamun had an ebony chair: https://www.researchgate.net/figure/shows-a-45-angle-of-the-Solid-Ebony-Chair-of-Tutankhamun-This-chair-is-currently-at-the_fig1_332339641  
http://www.touregypt.net/museum/tutl58.htm

There is a lot of debate over the authenticity of the Getty kouros, so I am going to say that it is the archaic kouros statue in Asmodeus’ house: https://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/10930/unknown-maker-kouros-greek-about-530-bc-or-modern-forgery/  
https://arthistorykmg.omeka.net/exhibits/show/gettykouros/the-case-of

There are lots of examples of Assyrian relief panels with the image of a winged figure with a sacred tree: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/322594  
https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/322595  
https://collections.lacma.org/node/235703  
https://quod.lib.umich.edu/a/aict/x-NE016/NE000_IMG0016

Thanks to seashadows for helping me figure out the appropriate period of mourning for a husband in biblical times. Apparently it was between one (absolute minimum) to two months before the woman was free to marry again.

**Chapter 13: A Veil of Black Feathers**

More information on Persian clothing here: http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/clothing-ii  
I do remember researching the buttons issue (were they in use yet?) and it seems that there were at least some use of buttons or equivalent, so here we are.

A rhyton is a type of drinking vessel, usually horn-shaped. I imagine Sarah’s father is drinking from something like the second vessel made of silver shown in this article: https://news.harvard.edu/gazette/story/2018/09/animal-shaped-vessels-from-the-ancient-world-a-showcase-for-intoxicating-art/

I had a different source for snapping fingers, one of women dancers in ancient Greece dancing while snapping their fingers but I suppose these will have to do. I imagined that Aziraphale and Crowley picked up snapping fingers from watching Greek theater: https://tinyurl.com/sghdebr  
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Finger_snapping#/media/File:Olpe_Pan_maenad_BM_F381.jpg

Some of what Sarah’s father says about marrying a suitable person comes directly from the Book of Tobit where Tobit gives Tobias marriage advice in Tobit 4:12-13. “_Beware, my son, of every kind of fornication. First of all, marry a woman from among the descendants of your ancestors; do not marry a foreign woman, who is not of your father’s tribe; for we are the descendants of the prophets…._”

Now we’ve caught up to the story in the Book of Tobit, 3:7-16. Much of the text of Sarah’s prayer comes from Tobit 3:14-15, with some artistic license. 

**Chapter 14: Prayers**

It’s always nice to try to make sure that the plants and animals are native to the area. Birds were picked from a list of species found in the region: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_birds_of_Iran

**Chapter 15: Consequences**

A wax tablet was wax spread in a thin, light wooden case that could be used for writing with a pointed stylus. Heating up the wax until it melted meant the surface could be erased and reused. Here’s a brief history of wax tablets: https://blogs.bl.uk/digitisedmanuscripts/2019/05/keep-taking-the-wax-tablets.html  
Here is an artistic depiction of someone using a wax tablet: https://blog.education.nationalgeographic.org/2016/06/02/ancient-roman-tablets-reveal-voices-of-the-earliest-londoners/douris_man_with_wax_tablet/

Elena suggested that Asmodeus should bite Crowley; honestly I was having a hard time thinking up a suitable weapon for Asmodeus in this scene.

**Chapter 16: A Very Big Fish**

Nineveh is an ancient city in Mesopotamia near modern Mosul in Iraq that was continuously inhabited for thousands of years, starting in the Neolithic. https://www.britannica.com/place/Nineveh-ancient-city-Iraq

Now Aziraphale has stepped into the story of the Book of Tobit. According to the Book of Tobit, he’s getting paid a drachma a day plus expenses (itemized?), and according to the New Oxford Annotated Bible, this is equivalent to a “normal day’s wage for an artisan.”

This part about the Very Big Fish is in the original story. 

I borrowed Tobias’ blessing from one of the prayers/hymns in the Book of Tobit. And of course, the name of G-d is avoided by tradition. https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1443443/jewish/Why-Dont-Jews-Say-Gds-Name.htm

The dog is a feature of the original story too. I had debated whether or not to keep the dog, but in the end I thought this was an important detail to keep.

Roasted Very Big Fish (masgouf) is a popular dish in Iraq to this day. Of course, back then they didn’t have tomatoes but the second link has a recipe:  
https://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/05/dining/05fish.html  
https://www.myjewishlearning.com/recipe/masgouf-iraqi-fish/

This old half-forgotten memory of Aziraphale’s is from the Miracle Year when he went traveling with the whales, in Mistakes Were Made: The (Babylonian) Story of the Flood.

There is a stone soup thing going on here with the fish supper. 

Jiang is a predecessor to soy sauce, which was not yet invented. http://sciencemeetsfood.org/story-science-soy-sauce/  
Here’s a more modern recipe using soy sauce. I would recommend reducing the soy sauce and replacing some of it with Maggi sauce. And I wouldn’t bother with cilantro or laying out the green onions on the fish ahead of time; just dump the aromatics all in to the hot oil and then dump the sauce over the fish: https://thewoksoflife.com/cantonese-steamed-fish/

I can almost imagine Aziraphale telling Crowley to make sure he takes off his shoes first before possessing a human...don’t want to track dirt inside!

Things got so much easier to write once Aziraphale and Crowley met again in the story. 

**Chapter 17: The Stars**

Birds don’t usually sing mating songs in the autumn, but sometimes when angelic influences are strong, they might be inspired.

If you want to know what Crowley experienced sitting on an asteroid, here is a neat video from a comet: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1GJp6JCJU8

The clay tablet was one of the first mediums for writing, invented in Mesopotamia. https://www.eduscapes.com/history/beginnings/3000bce.htm  
Here are some instructions on making your own: https://www.instructables.com/id/How-to-make-a-clay-tablet/  
And if you want your own clay tablet with some crisp cuneiform text, you can check out this shop (I don’t know this person, I just think they make cool art): https://www.etsy.com/shop/AncientTextModTablet?ref=simple-shop-header-name&listing_id=575012458

Papyrus was invented by the ancient Egyptians. Unsurprisingly, clay tablets tend to last quite a bit longer since papyrus decays fairly easily either by becoming brittle or rotting, and in a fire, clay tablets turn into bricks as opposed to burning up. 

The ayin is a letter (the 16th) in many Semitic alphabets (more precisely: abjads) including Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic. At a guess, Hell is writing in Aramaic since it’s the lingua franca of the region. Jesus probably spoke Aramaic. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Aramaic-language

I always wondered why Hastur would believe (even for a second) that Crowley had a direct line to the Dark Council.

To plotz is “to burst with or be overcome by strong emotion.” https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/plotz This word also comes from Yiddish, which makes its use very much an anachronism.

**Chapter 18: An Arranged Marriage**

At the time in Mesopotamia, sun-dried mudbrick was the main building material for houses and other structures. Stone was rare and often imported and there were no sizable trees suitable for building material. If you read Mesopotamian literature, you’ll notice that some elite public works such as city walls are made with “baked brick” instead of just plain mudbrick. Regular mudbrick tends to deteriorate over time, thus the huge “Tells” (artificial hills) that are the locations of ancient Mesopotamian cities, where new mudbrick buildings were regularly built over deteriorated buildings for millennia. https://www.thoughtco.com/what-is-a-tell-169849

Bactrian camels have two humps and were the backbone of trade through Asia throughout the pre-modern world. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/mammals/b/bactrian-camel/  
http://www.historyworld.net/wrldhis/PlainTextHistories.asp?ParagraphID=bfy

The previous journey Aziraphale is remembering is found in Mistakes Were Made: The Epic of Gilgamesh

Roads in general were pretty terrible up through the 19th century, though people like the Romans made some pretty good ones. 

More on the Nephilim later.

Besides wearing trousers, which the ancient Greeks thought to be a barbarous custom, the Persians would also later invent high heels, to wear with stirrups. That fashion was picked up by Europeans.  
https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-21151350

Greeks definitely exercised in the nude.

**Chapter 19: Delusion**

Many of these places along the Royal Road that Aziraphale and Tobias are staying at are caravanserai, which date back to the Achaemenid Empire. https://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists/6197/  
In fact, Herodotus writes about them in his Histories (Book I):  
“_Now the true account of the road in question is the following: Royal stations exist along its whole length, and excellent caravanserais; and throughout, it traverses an inhabited tract, and is free from danger._” http://classics.mit.edu/Herodotus/history.mb.txt

There are some famous caravanserai including ones built in caves that you can still stay in today in Cappadocia, Turkey.

Susa, Persepolis, Babylon, and Ecbatana are all important imperial cities of the Achaemenid Empire.

**Chapter 20: A Mentor**

Either Aziraphale has the little dog tucked in his coat, or he’s unintentionally using a tiny miracle to keep the dog dry. Probably a little bit of both.

Here is some more information on textile finishing in the Mediterranean and the Ancient Near East, including waterproofing: https://digitalcommons.unl.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1003&context=texterm

**Chapter 21: The Fall**

I recently read a very interesting article on the current novel coronavirus crisis and faith by Peter Wehner: “_Some high-profile Christians presume they can divine the messages God is sending the world through suffering, natural disasters and pandemics. But most Christians I know, and all of those with whom I was in touch, wisely stay away from attempting to answer the “Why?” question. They point to the prophet Job, whose friends were rebuked by God for trying to do precisely that. And it was Jesus, in the agony on the cross, who cried out, “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” If God didn’t see fit to answer Job or Jesus, God is not likely to feel the need to answer us_.”  
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/10/opinion/sunday/covid-easter-christians.html

**Chapter 22: The Promise**

Media, in central Asia/northwestern Iran is the home of the Medes. Cyrus the Great conquered the Medes and allied them with the Persians to form his empire. https://www.britannica.com/place/Media-ancient-region-Iran

“_Are they also descendants of Asiel of the tribe of Naphtali?_” This genealogical information is given in Tobit 1:1.

I picked a name from the Bible (Old Testament) at random for the father of Raguel (Eleazar), since Raguel’s father’s name is not given in the Book of Tobit.

From the Oxford Annotated Bible: Sarah means “Mistress.” And Asmodeus is Hebrew for “Destroyer.” 

**Chapter 22: The Servants**

The beginning of Sarah’s story in the Book of Tobit, 3:7, has Sarah being reproached by one of her father’s maids: “_You are the one who kills your husbands! See, you have already been married to seven husbands and have not borne the name of a single one of them. Why do you beat us? Because your husbands are dead? Go with them! May we never see a son or daughter of yours!_”

The last “husband” of course, was Crowley.

A magus (plural: magi) is a Zoroastrian priest, who tends the sacred fire and by custom covers his mouth and nose to prevent their breath from contaminating the sacred fire. http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/magi Why plural? Maybe in a Jewish household, they may not know as much about Zoroastrianism, but probably because magi almost rhymes with rabbi.

Laila is a Persian name that means “night” (alternate spelling of Leila).

I became interested in writing collective characters during my stint writing stories set in the world of Mad Max: Fury Road, and so here the servants are written as collective characters.

**Chapter 24: Sarah**

Both Aziraphale and Crowley function as Raphael in this story, Aziraphale more so.

**Chapter 25: The Father**

In the original Book of Tobit, Sarah also has a mother, but I wrote her out of this story, to make it more realistic that Sarah had no one to turn to in the face of Asmodeus’ abuse, and that there was no one who would or could advocate for her against her father’s will to marry her off to one man after another.

“Severely trimmed” meaning that seven kinsmen have died due to Asmodeus’ interference. 

Some of these chapters run a little short. It was hard to figure out where to cut the chapters since I write the story first and cut it into chapters only when I’m about ready to post. Sometimes it’s clear where the breaks should be, but I definitely had a few discussions with Elena over the optimal way to break up these chapters. In the end, slightly shorter chapters seemed like the best solution.

**Chapter 26: The Voice in the Garden**

The evergreen oak and the mastic tree are references to the story of Susanna from the Book of Daniel, Daniel 13:54-59 http://www.usccb.org/bible/daniel/13

The story of Susanna, shows that even married women were rarely unaccompanied outside, even in their own garden. Even though the story of Susanna was set around the Babylonian captivity, sometime after 586 B.C.E., was also written around the time of the Book of Tobit, so I am extrapolating cultural similarities. Thus, Aziraphale is very apologetic about running into an unaccompanied woman, not wanting to damage her reputation or get her into trouble.  
http://employees.oneonta.edu/farberas/arth/arth200/women/susanna.html

It seems that the age of marriage is around 18. This particular question was somewhat hard to research because internet searches mostly yield religious Christian blogs and articles. http://archive.jewishagency.org/life-cycle/content/24224

I think that having Sarah be the sole heir of an extremely wealthy family makes it make sense that after even one or two dead husbands, much less four or five, there would be men still willing to marry her.

Mikveh is a ritual purification bath. There is a lot written about mikveh and I won’t presume to know what’s a good source, but this seemed reasonable for a general overview (there is way more to it than what this article mentions): https://hekint.org/2018/05/24/jewish-ritual-immersion-in-the-mikveh-and-the-concept-of-communal-immunity/

“_Cool of the day (Genesis 3:8). This traditional translation is problematic. No precedent exists for interpreting the word for ‘wind’ (rûaḥ) as ‘cool.’ An alternative using comparative information is that the phrase should be translated ‘wind of the storm.’ The basis of this alternative is the claim that the word usually translated ‘day’ (yôm) could possibly be translated as ‘storm.’ Support is drawn from an Akkadian cognate umu and the existence of two other biblical contexts where this alternative meaning might apply (Isa. 27:8; Zeph. 2:2). The resulting interpretation is that Adam and Eve heard the (terrifying) sound of God going through the garden with a storm wind._  
https://bbhchurchconnection.wordpress.com/2012/02/01/on-the-translation-cool-of-the-day-in-genesis-38/

The “breath of God that animates the dust that we are created from” is a reference to Genesis 2:7, “_...then the LORD God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being._”

There is a long and grand tradition in Judaism of discussion, disputation, and discourse both with other people and with God.

Tobias’ own father Tobit became blind in Tobit 2:7. “_The same night I washed myself and went into my courtyard and slept by the wall of the courtyard; and my face was uncovered because of the heat. I did not know that there were sparrows on the wall; their fresh droppings fell into my eyes and produced white films. I went to physicians to be healed, but the more they treated me with ointments the more my vision was obscured by the white films, until I became completely blind. For four years I remained unable to see._”

Pikuach Nefesh is a core principle in Judaism, the religious duty to preserve life.  
https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/pikuach-nefesh-the-overriding-jewish-value-of-human-life/. “At thirteen, the individual reaches the age of mitzvot (is responsible for obeying the Biblical commandments)” and a key mitzvah (singular) is pikuach nefesh. http://archive.jewishagency.org/life-cycle/content/24224

**Chapter 27: By Doing so One Shall Live**

Useful tool for capitalizing titles: https://capitalizemytitle.com/ 

At the time the betrothal and signing of the marriage contract would have been the most important aspect of the marriage, not the marriage ceremony. The entire ceremony in the Book of Tobit (7:9-14) to the modern eye seems rather casual: while sitting down to supper Tobias asks Azariah (Raphael) to ask Raguel on his behalf for Sarah’s hand, to which Raguel agrees and “_Then Raguel summoned his daughter Sarah. When she came to him he took her by the hand and gave her to Tobias, saying, ‘Take her to be your wife in accordance with the law and decree written in the book of Moses. Take her and bring her safely to your father. And may the God of heaven prosper your journey with his peace.’ Then he called her mother and told her to bring writing material; and he wrote out a copy of a marriage contract, to the effect that he gave her to him as wife according to the decree of the law of Moses. Then they began to eat and drink.”_

The ceremony would not be as important until later on. More information on Jewish marriage, from betrothal to the ceremony: https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/465162/jewish/The-Jewish-Marriage-Ceremony.htm

In Tobit 8:4, Raguel orders a grave dug for Tobias, though this was done in secret, after Tobias has entered the bridal chamber with Sarah. “_Then they went to sleep for the night. But Raguel arose and called his servants to him, and they went and dug a grave, for he said, ‘It is possible that he will die and we will become an object of ridicule and derision.’ When they had finished digging the grave, Raguel went into his house and called his wife, saying, ‘Send one of the maids and have her go in to see if he is alive. But if he is dead, let us bury him without anyone knowing it.’_”

Aziraphale is quoting Leviticus, 18:5 which is a key passage in relation to pikuach nefesh: “_You shall keep my statues and my ordinances; by doing so one shall live: I am the LORD._”

In the original Book of Tobit, 8:1-3, “_When they had finished eating and drinking they wanted to retire; so they took the young man and brought him into the bedroom. Then Tobias remembered the words of Raphael, and he took the fish’s liver and heart out of the bag where he had them and put them on the embers of the incense. The odor of the fish so repelled the demon that he fled into the remotest parts of Egypt. But Raphael followed him and at once bound him there hand and foot._”

**Chapter 28: What Is That Coming up from the Wilderness...**

One early idea was that the bride and groom in this scene would have been Crowley and Aziraphale both in disguise. As much as I liked that idea, I thought that writing it this way would be more meaningful to Sarah and Tobias.

The little dog is an Alopekis: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alopekis  
And looks something like this: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alopekis#/media/File:Alopekis_wirehaired.jpg

“_What is that coming up from the wilderness, like a column of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense..._” comes from the Song of Solomon 3:6. 

As aforementioned, the age of mitzvot is 13, so Tobias totally has a squishy chubby babyface.

This silver-plated couch is in imitation of the Persian king’s supper couch: “_Although meals were served to large numbers of people in the palace each day (see above), the king dined in privacy with the queen and his mother in a separate room, from which, seated on a couch with golden legs, he could watch the guests through curtains._” http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/courts-and-courtiers-i

**Chapter 29: Sarah and Tobias**

Deborah was a prophet who helped the Israelites overcome their oppressors in Judges 4 and 5. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Deborah-biblical-figure

Esther was married to a Persian king, and helped save the Jews of the Persian Empire from being slaughtered, which led to the Jewish holiday of Purim. The Persian king whom she married is identified as Artaxerxes in the Book of Esther but according to the Oxford Annotated was probably Xerxes I. According to the timeline in the Book of Esther, they would have been married in about 480 or 479 B.C.E.

At this time in both Greece and Persia, people of importance and rank reclined on supper couches to eat, though ordinary people either sat on floors or stood. Reclining at supper is mentioned in Tobit 7:9 “_When they had bathed and washed themselves and had reclined to dine..._” In ancient times, people also reclined to dine during the Passover Seder.  
https://www.chabad.org/holidays/passover/pesach_cdo/aid/1707/jewish/Reclining.htm

There are some implications in the Bible that during this time men and women were separated, but the quotes are rather vague and mostly about big public events such as sacrifices and not specifically a wedding. The references are found in Nehemiah 8:2 and 12:43.

In the following link from the Met Museum, the audio file #7014 gives some background on the bowl and details the languages inscribed in cuneiform on the bowl: Persian, Elamite, and Babylonian, three major languages of the Persian Empire. This particular bowl is inscribed with the name of Darius the Great, who reigned from 522-486 B.C.E. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/324289

It could have been either Artaxerxes I who reigned from 465-424 B.C.E. or Artaxerxes II who reigned from 404-358 B.C.E.

As you may have noticed from one of the previous sources ( https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/ancient-jewish-marriage/ ), in ancient times Jewish marriages involved a contract with a payment/gift known as mohar, which was apparently not so much payment for the bride as a nominal gift. While it seems that Tobias’ terms are pretty progressive, they seem to be fairly standard for the era. During the research, I came across the marriage contract of Mibtachiah and As-Hor, which dates to about 440 B.C.E., which lists things like mohar and gifts to the bride. https://www.beureihatefila.com/files/Rabim_B_Yad_Mi_Atim-Jews_As_Professional_Soldiers.pdf The terms of the marriage contract between Sarah and Tobias are mostly borrowed from this historical contract. You can see the original text here along with some other interesting ancient documents: http://jewishchristianlit.com/Topics/Contracts/index.html

**Chapter 30: The Substitute Groom**

The golden lion-headed rhyton that Aziraphale is drinking from looks like this: https://tinyurl.com/ya452tud

The Persians have quite a long and rich history of wine culture; for example, Shiraz wine is traditionally from Persia. And unlike the Greeks, the Persians did not water down their wine: https://www.cais-soas.com/CAIS/Culture/wine_good.htm

I found this wine duck that I wasn’t able to use: https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/24048817.pdf?seq=1  
As well as more information on other bird-shaped drinking vessels: https://www.georgeortiz.com/objects/achaemenid/208-duck/

**Chapter 31: The Bride**

I almost called this chapter “The Substitute Bride” but felt that gave away too much of the surprise.

In Mistakes Were Made: The (Babylonian) Story of the Flood, Crowley wears a collar necklace of serpentinite and carnelian beads in ancient Abydos.

You can’t live without a heart or a liver. Which is why in Mandarin, the word that means “sweetheart” is “heart-liver.”

Elena came up with the excellent suggestion that Crowley would have trouble readjusting to the new body, due to the complexity of the system of body perception in a human being.

Among other passages regarding cherubim and their multitude of wings and eyes, Ezekiel 10:12 states: “_Their entire body, their rims, their spokes, their wings, and the wheels – the wheels of the four of them – were full of eyes all around._”

In The Acharnians, Aristophanes writes about Persian drinking vessels: “_Everywhere we were well received and forced to drink delicious wine out of golden or crystal flagons_.” These “crystal flagons” were also made of glass, as glass vessels at the time were made to imitate rock crystal. There is some more here on glass in Persia, though most of the information is from a later time: http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/glass 

The type of glass drinking vessels that Aziraphale and Crowley are using would be something like this, but deeper and of smaller circumference: https://www.cmog.org/artwork/bowl-713?search=collection%3Aa00b0367a986f7a82145fbb6730ad281&page=2

Various sources described Achaemenid elites drinking from cups balanced on three fingers. There are also some more sketches of glass cups in this link: https://tinyurl.com/y8ygkrqr

**Chapter 32: The Truth**

Kottabos is an ancient Greek drinking game that was played using the lees of the wine. There is a good video here that shows how it would have been played: https://www.livescience.com/49441-greek-drinking-game-kottabos-recreated.html 

**Chapter 33: Another Marriage**

More on food and feasts in Persia. Sadly, no recipes are extant: https://tinyurl.com/y7mnpyye  
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/what-was-it-like-to-dine-with-the-persian-kings-116203239/

The Persians invented ice cream: http://www.icecreamhistory.net/frozen-dessert-history/ice-cream-timeline/

There are definitely more sources even in the Bible such as The Book of Enoch about the Nephilim, but I chose to use just Genesis 6:1–4, because it gives the least amount of information.  
“_When people began to multiply on the face of the ground, and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw that they were fair; and they took wives for themselves of all that they chose. ³ Then the Lord said, “My spirit shall not abide in mortals forever, for they are flesh; their days shall be one hundred twenty years.” The Nephilim were on the earth in those days — and also afterward — when the sons of God went in to the daughters of humans, who bore children to them. These were the heroes that were of old, warriors of renown._”

**Chapter 34: Intimacy**

Geese have specialized toothed beaks. Though they’re not exactly teeth proper, but tomia. http://www.mdavid.com.au/geese/geese.shtml

**Chapter 35: The Song of the Nightingale**

Here's what a nightingale looks and sounds like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XdlIbNrki5o. I also tried to get some example sounds from as close to the right region as possible; these are recordings from northern Iran: https://www.xeno-canto.org/322529 and https://www.xeno-canto.org/405203

The poem comes from Sappho, fragment 62 in Mary Barnard’s book.

Aziraphale still has to go to Rages to retrieve the money owed to Tobit, besides the fact that he still needs to heal Tobit’s blindness.

**Chapter 36: The Garden, Again**  


Here is what a hoopoe looks and sounds like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWCIWj4FBVg and here is a recording of a hoopoe from about as close as I could get to Ephesus: https://www.xeno-canto.org/99375

Don’t eat hoopoes, they’re not kosher. https://www.jewishpress.com/judaism/ask-the-rabbi/q-a-the-hoopoe/2004/02/04/

Agade is also known as Akkad. To this day, no one knows where it was. https://www.britannica.com/place/Agade

Here’s a neat article on The Curse of Agade: https://www.ancient.eu/article/748/the-curse-of-agade-naram-sins-battle-with-the-gods/

**Miscellaneous**

Finally, here are some sources I looked at while looking up things such as cultural context, marriage, etc.

Haut, Rivka, and Susan Grossman. 1993. Daughters of the King : Women and the Synagogue: A Survey of History, Halakhah, and Contemporary Realities. Vol. 1st pbk. ed. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society. http://search.ebscohost.com.proxyvc.vcccd.edu/login.aspx?direct=true&db=nlebk&AN=332076&site=ehost-live.

The Wiles of Women/The Wiles of Men: Joseph and Potiphar's Wife in Ancient Near Eastern, Jewish, and Islamic Folklore

Berlin, Adele. “The Book of Esther and Ancient Storytelling.” Journal of Biblical Literature 120, no. 1 (April 1, 2001): 3–14. http://search.proquest.com/docview/214614564/.

The Persianized Liturgy of Nehemiah 8:1-8 *  
Whitters, Mark. Journal of Biblical Literature; Atlanta Vol. 136, Iss. 1, (2017): 63-84. DOI:10.15699/jbl.1361.2017.156788 

**One last note**

Oh, and before I forget: a lot of readers asked about the dog. And as I mentioned before in reply to comments and questions, it really is just a dog. 

But you know, sometimes dog moves in mysterious ways. 

Thanks for reading!


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